Unforeseen
by intjsherlocked
Summary: After an unexpected accident at the bunker, Sam, Dean, and Jack go to Montour Falls, New York to investigate a hunt they thought ended years ago. Lots of hurt!Sam, protective!Dean, and awesome!Jack. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:** After an unexpected accident at the bunker, Sam, Dean, and Jack go to Montour Falls, New York to investigate a hunt they thought ended years ago. Lots of hurt!Sam, protective!Dean, and awesome!Jack. No slash.

 **Prompt:** I'm putting the prompt in at the end of the story, but it was given to me by AllShallFade777, who always gives me the most lovely prompts! Thanks so much!

 **Warnings:** Only a bit of profanity.

 **Set:** Season 13. Not quite sure when this would canonically fit in, so we'll just go with when Sam, Dean, and Jack are together and Dean trusts Jack.

 **A/N:** I originally wrote this for a one shot for another story but it was too long to fit in there, so that's why it's now a multi-chapter fic. There will probably be 3 – 4 parts.

* * *

" _No, I was in The Empty… apparently, it's where angels and demons go when they die." - Castiel, 13x06_

"Sparring," Jack repeated, watching Dean with slight distrust in his eyes. "Why would you want to fight each other?"

"It's not real fighting," Sam explained. "It's practice. When you're in a real fight against some sort of monster, it's good to have natural reflexes."

Jack still looked a bit wary, so Sam tried again. "What if you were pitted against a ghoul and it tried to attack you? It's better to know how to take a monster down with hand-to-hand combat. Otherwise you could get hurt, or worse," he said.

Dean pulled off his flannel, stretching his arms in preparation clad only in a tee shirt and jeans. "Sam and I will show you," he said seriously. "You can see my techniques for winning. Sammy can never beat me."

Sam started to agree with Dean and then backpedaled. "What? No - last time we sparred, I had you pinned down within a minute!"

"I always win," Dean maintained, giving Jack an easy grin. "Watch and learn, young grasshopper."

Sam wasn't ready for Dean's swift offense toward him. A quick punch to his stomach made him stumble back a bit; obviously, Dean had pulled back in the punch, but it was still a hard hit.

He recovered quickly, dodging Dean's next attack and using a palm-heel attack towards his brother's face.

The palm-heel strike was one that they used for real only in actual fights. It was one of the first moves their father had taught them; a swift punch with the heel of the palm towards the jaw or nose and the opponent could quickly have their bones broken. Sam didn't use the move with that much force, but both he and Dean knew it was a hit they didn't want to receive.

Dean spun slightly to avoid the hit, leaving Sam the opportunity to grab him. He twisted him, pinning his arms and straining to knock him to the floor.

Dean acted nimbly, ripping Sam's fingers away and slamming his head backwards. Sam was forced to move back, ignoring the impulse to clutch his throbbing nose. Dean didn't wait for him to recover and threw his elbow toward his jaw. Sam blocked it with his forearm, simultaneously roundhouse kicking Dean. All he got was a grunt from his brother, who fired back with several punches towards his face.

Sam deflected them and responded with a second kick; this time, he nailed Dean in the groin. His brother jumped backwards quickly before Sam could take advantage of him.

Sam could hear Jack saying something to them, but it sounded slightly concerned and not important enough to risk getting distracted. He was bent on winning; he had been since he was a kid.

Back before he was taller than Dean, Dean _always_ won. Always. It wasn't until Sam was seventeen that he beat his brother for the first time. He could still remember the look of shocked surprise on his brother's face and the expression of amusement on his father's face.

Nearly getting lost in thoughts, Sam missed one of Dean's punches and got nailed in the face. Dean saw his momentary vulnerability and lunged towards him with his arms out.

They both went down, Dean on top.

Sam wasn't willing to lose yet. He kneed his brother in the stomach and rolled to the side. Dean pursued him and mounted himself on top, placing his brother in a quick chokehold.

Sam kicked him again, but in the position he was in the kick was weak without much leverage to aid it. He struggled, his movements becoming less coordinated the more he was cut off from air. Dean was grinning above him, not relenting with the chokehold.

Once Sam admitted to himself that he wouldn't be able to do anything more than flail uselessly, he tapped out, tapping his index finger three times. It was the signal they'd used since childhood, and Dean immediately backed off, a grin still wide on his face.

"I always win," Dean repeated to Jack, holding a hand out to Sam. Sam offered it and made his way to his feet. There was a bit of blood coming out of his nose and he put a tissue to it.

Jack was looking at them with concern. "That was so violent," he said, his eyes wide with genuine fear. "It looked like you wanted to kill each other."

"Not this time," Sam said moodily, irritated at Dean's victory.

Dean laughed. "We have before," he said to Jack, whose eyes widened only more. "Alright. Who do you want to spar?"

Jack's fearful expression was replaced by one of confusion. "What? Me?"

"Yeah. Gotta start sometime, dude."

Sam shook his head at his brother's words. "Jack, you don't have to spar if you don't want to-"

"I'll take you on, Sam," Jack decided.

Sam was caught off guard. "What?"

"Dean looked like he would be harder to beat."

Sam ignored his brother's smug expression at Jack's reasoning. "Alright, then. Bring it on," he said, stooping slightly for a better angle. One glance at Dean told him that his brother was aware of what Sam was about to do. Jack didn't know how to fight; Sam could use the element of surprise to knock him back with a solid punch quickly.

Sure enough, Jack's defenses were low. Sam got him in the stomach, and the nephilim - who was immune to gunshots and practically death itself - caught his breath, winded. Sam wound himself for another punch, planning ahead. He'd take down Jack after this punch. Get him on the floor, put him in a chokehold. It would be easy.

The second punch went towards Jack's stomach again, and as expected, Jack did nothing to defend himself.

To Sam's surprise, even though his punch landed in the place planned, Jack was reaching towards him quickly. It wasn't a punch - it was quite literally a reach.

Jack's fingers met his forehead with a force much more gentle than he expected. Sam felt his eyes roll backwards and the bunker swam into darkness as the sensation of falling accompanied him.

* * *

Sam woke up on the couch. He started to sit up and groaned as a nauseous feeling came with the movement. One rub to the back of his head and he found the sizable bump on his head.

"You nailed the floor pretty hard," Dean said, coming into the living room along with Jack. "How you doing?"

"Feels like someone threw a rock at my head," Sam admitted, wincing as his fingers brushed the wound. It was sticky with a bit of dried blood.

Dean sat down on the coffee table across from him. "How many fingers am I holding?" he asked, holding up four.

Sam raised his middle finger. "How many am I holding?" he asked.

"Don't be a bitch," Dean snorted, holding up their penlight. Sam rolled his eyes but obliged to what was Dean's concussion inspection.

"It's not bad," Dean determined, pulling away. "Just a minor concussion at the most."

"I could've told you that much," Sam said, closing his eyes against the raging headache.

"I'm sorry, Sam," Jack said, looking tormented.

"What happened?" Sam thought back to the sparring session, which was now a bit fuzzy in his memory. He remembered Dean beating him, and starting to spar Jack… nothing from there.

Had Jack taken advantage of him? He didn't recall Jack throwing any punches at all.

"We should've established that no powers are allowed," Dean explained. "One touch to your forehead and you were out. You lost two sparring sessions today, bro. You're losing your touch."

"You're such a jerk," Sam retorted, unable to come up with a better comeback what with his pounding head.

"We can try again," Jack offered. "I won't use my powers this time."

Sam met Jack's hopeful eyes. "Sure," he agreed immediately, ready to win at least once.

"No way," Dean interjected. "In a couple of days you can have a rematch."

"It's not a bad concussion, Dean," Sam said, anxious to win at least one session even if it meant fighting with a newly received concussion.

"I don't care. You're staying there," Dean said, pointing at the couch.

Sam sighed with defeat. There wouldn't be any reasoning with his brother. "In a couple of days," he amended to Jack.

Dean was probably right. He was having trouble focusing because of the headache, and opted to lay back down.

"I'm going to go make dinner," Dean said after a moment. The words surprised Sam - Dean hadn't made dinner since their mom had fallen into the Apocalypse World. "You stay there. If I hear you sparring, Sam, I'll kick your concussed ass."

He retreated from the living room, and Sam suppressed a snort of laughter at his brother's protective instincts.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sam?" Jack asked, replacing Dean's spot on the coffee table.  
"I'm fine," Sam assured him. "I've had much worse."

But he never heard Jack's response. His headache surged suddenly, and the bunker living room was replaced with a sunny bedroom.

 _The walls were pastel blue and the sun was shining brightly into the room, casting a large yellow rectangle in the center of the room._

 _On one wall of the room were double windows, both of which were cracked open. A warm breeze drifted into the room, tickling the curtains and keeping the air from stagnant. Outside was a small, quiet town. In the distance there was a rickety bridge crossing a steep waterfall; it was picturesque. A brick church with a gleaming steeple was in the center of the town and its bells were ringing loudly, striking one, two, three, four, five, six, seven times._

 _Everything was normal. Everything except for the bed in the bedroom._

 _On the bed was a woman in her mid-thirties. Her hair was strawberry blonde and spread around her face like a halo. Her face was pale, dazzled with freckles. She was wearing capris and a white blouse._

 _Beneath her was a pool of blood. It had stained the bed, but the woman must have died recently, because the blood still looked damp. It stained her white shirt horribly, making it stand out all the more._

The bedroom suddenly flickered out of view and Sam found himself vomiting before he even realized he was back in the bunker and no longer in the bright bedroom. Distantly, he heard Jack shouting Dean's name, but his head felt like it was being showered with bricks and he couldn't think about anything except for the pain.

"Sam!" Dean's hands were gripping his shoulders and Sam blindly reached out for his brother, gasping before vomiting again.

"Dean," Sam choked, blinking as the living room came into focus. "Dean, there's a woman-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence because he was plunged downwards again and the bedroom swam back into view.

 _The dead woman was still lying in a pool of her blood. Her face was peaceful with death; her eyes were shut and she was positioned as though she were sleeping._

 _The sudden patter of light footsteps neared the bedroom. A little girl of about eight years came into the room._

 _She saw her mother, and tugged at her sleeve first. Her hand touched the blood and the little girl pulled away, repulsed. She looked at the red on her hand, back to her mother, and gingerly placed a hand on her mother's face._

 _She felt the cold skin. The girl pulled at her mother's hand, crying out, and when her mother didn't respond, she screamed._

Sam's eyes flew open and he dry-heaved, unable to vomit anymore. His head felt like it had been fried.

"Sam, answer me dammit!"

Sam pressed his hands against his temples. Glass was slicing into his brain; at least, it felt like that, and pressure was reaching a peak behind his eyes. He could still hear Dean in the background, demanding him what was wrong and threatening to call an ambulance, so he made out, "I'm fine, Dean," even though he felt far from it.

Slowly, very slowly, the pain began to subside.

"What the hell-" Dean began to demand but Sam interrupted him.

"Dean - we need to go - someone died, or she's going to die." His head was still aching so terribly that it was difficult to form his sentence into something coherent.

"Slow down, dude," Dean said, crouching by Sam. "What just happened?"

"I think it was a vision," Sam said, feeling fear only then at what had happened.

He hadn't had a vision in over a decade. Why now?

Azazel couldn't be back. He was dead. Unless he'd come through some sort of portal, Sam thought panickedly, thinking of the doors to alternate universes they'd seen as of late. What if Yellow-Eyes had gotten through one?

Dean seemed to be thinking the same thoughts. His face had paled and he was looking at Sam a bit strangely, and finally he said, "What does that mean? Is Yellow-Eyes back?"

"I don't know," Sam said honestly, clutching his head in his hands. He dry-heaved again, and felt Dean's hand on his back.

"You okay?" Dean asked when he was finished.

"I'm fine," Sam reiterated.

"My ass. Your visions ended years ago. What happened?"

Sam winced as another pound in his head clamored at his skull. "I don't know."  
Jack was standing against the wall of the living room, looking younger than ever. Dean, sensing Jack's hesitation towards moving towards Sam, whirled around.

"Did something go wrong? When you knocked him out?" Dean asked forcefully, pointing his thumb back at Sam.

Jack looked at Dean fearfully, then at Sam. "I felt something," he admitted after a moment.

Dean waited impatiently. Though his back was turned to Sam, he could practically see the wide-eyed look of accusation on his brother's face.

"Yeah?" Dean prompted finally when Jack didn't continue.

"I felt it. It was like a presence, in the back of Sam's mind. It felt… psychic? When I reached into his mind to put him to sleep-"

"Wait - that's how you do the weird knocking-out-with-an-index-finger thing? You and Cas? How the hell does that work?"

Jack looked confused. "Well, putting my finger on someone's forehead lets me see into their mind, and then all I have to do is ease it into unconsciousness."

"Okay. So what happened?" Dean said, his voice louder than necessary.

"Well, when I put Sam to sleep," Jack said, his voice getting quieter, "I think I might've accidentally woken up the psychic in the back of his mind."

"You _what_?" Sam and Dean said at the same time; Dean's voice angry and Sam's surprised.

"I'm really sorry," Jack said, wringing his hands. "I'm so stupid. I should've realized that wasn't allowed in sparring. I should've known. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so _stupid_ -"

The kid was beating himself up over it.

"Jack, it wasn't your fault," Sam said gently. "We've dealt with this before. We'll deal with it again."

Dean looked like he wanted to argue but Sam raised his eyebrows at him silently.

"Okay," Dean said finally. "What did you see?"

Sam considered the vision. It'd been so long since he'd had a vision that the headache seemed worse, like his body was rejecting the vision.

"There's a woman. She's going to die," Sam said, and remembered the seven bell rings of the church and the early morning light glowing in the room. "I think she's going to die tonight, or the night after. Her daughter found her the next morning at seven."

Dean scrubbed his chin with his hand. His forehead was creased with worry and he kept glancing back at Sam as though afraid he would have another vision.

Which, Sam realized, wasn't that extreme a prediction.

"What do you mean, you've dealt with this before?" Jack asked tentatively.

Sam was the one to answer. "About eleven years ago, I had visions. They all had something to do with Azazel, the yellow-eyed demon. The visions led to other things."

He didn't specify. His own first death, Dean's deal, his time with Ruby, drinking the demon blood, Lucifer rising, going to Hell, becoming soulless… he could go on for a long time.

"So what now?" Jack asked.

Sam looked to his brother, who still had a petulant, concerned expression stiff on his face.

"We've got to go to Montour Falls, New York," Sam said.

* * *

Montour Falls matched his vision exactly. A brick church in the middle of town preceded the straight road that pointed towards the falls. The falls poured over the steep rocks with an arcing bridge above it. They'd stayed in this town many years ago; Sam had been sixteen and Dean twenty. It was a typical ghost hunt, but for some reason that he couldn't remember it had stumped their father and they had stayed in this town for a couple of weeks longer than expected. Sam didn't remember much about the town, but enough to recognize it as the one from his vision.

Dean parked the Impala on the side of the street and Sam leaned over to look out the window.

"It's got to be that house," he said, turning around to look down the street. The view matched the view from the window in his vision nearly perfectly.

"What are we going to do?" Jack asked, leaning forward.

"We'll go inside and talk to the woman. See what we can find out. Improvise. Kill things that need killing," Dean said vaguely, getting out of the car.

They were posing as reporters doing an article on small town homeowners. It was a lame façade, but undoubtedly everyone they fed the lie to in this town would believe them.

The woman who answered the doorbell Sam immediately recognized as the woman in his vision. Her strawberry blonde hair was in a ponytail and her small daughter was behind her, clutching the rail of the stairs.

"Hello, ma'am," Sam said in his most sincere voice, the one that got people to trust them the quickest. "I'm Rob Plant, this is my partner Jim Page, and our protegé John Bonham. We're from a Boston news journal, and we're doing an article on the lifestyles of small town homeowners. Do you mind giving us a couple of quotes to help liven up the content?"

The woman looked a bit anxiously behind her, and then stepped outside onto the porch.

"Sure. Ella, want to come talk to the reporters?" the woman asked, and the little girl came running to grab her mom's hand.

The porch had several seats as well as a rocking bench, and they all sat down. Sam pulled out a small notebook for authenticity.

"I'm Angela," the woman said, shaking their hands.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Dean," Dean said, his eyes instantly preying on her with a flirtatious smirk.

Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes and began to ask their routine questions.

"So, what's your home like?" he asked casually. "Strange smells? Cold spots?"

* * *

Dean couldn't figure out anything out of the ordinary about this woman. They'd started by covering the usual bases, to rule out any sort of spirit, even though he doubted that Sam would have a vision about a normal haunting.

Speaking of - why the hell was his little brother having a vision?

Sure, Jack had sort of explained the technicalities of it. But Azazel was long gone. It had been years since any of Sam's shining had manifested.

It was freaking Dean out much more than he was letting on.

"Alright, I think we're done," Dean said pointedly, standing up. "Thank you for your time, Angela."

Angela didn't respond, and it took Dean a moment to realize she was looking at Sam. He whirled around to see his brother pressing hard against his temples.

"What's wrong with him?" Angela asked, wide-eyed.

"He gets migraines," Dean said automatically, and went to his brother's side. "Work through it, Sam. Sammy?"

Sam suddenly inhaled sharply with a gasp, looking upward with a wild expression in his eyes. He gripped Dean, and Dean could see the urgency in Sam's eyes, but he prodded him in the back slightly.

"Thanks," he said again to Angela, who looked mildly concerned, and then ushered Sam outside with Jack trailing behind him.

"What is it?" Dean demanded. "Another vision?"

"Yeah," Sam gritted out. He was pale and beads of perspiration were on his forehead. "But..."

"Does the woman live now?"

Sam looked at Dean with hesitation in his face. "Yeah. But…" he said again tentatively.

"But what?"

"I die," Sam said, looking at his feet.

Dean let out a snort of mirth. "That's it. We're getting out of this town."

Sam laughed dryly. "We can't leave, Dean. If we leave, the woman will die."

"If we stay, you die."

"Not necessarily," Sam said resolutely. "Look, Dean - the vision changed once before, didn't it? We can change it again."

Dean glared at him, feeling a muscle twitching in his jaw. "Where were you? In the vision?"

Sam's answer was a bit slow. "In the woman's bedroom," he said, pointing to the upstairs of Angela's house.

"How'd you die?" Dean pressured.

"I couldn't tell. There was just a pool of blood," Sam said, shrugging nonchalantly. "But Dean, we know what to avoid now. We can still stay here and try to-"

"No," Dean said firmly. "If you're dying, you're not staying here. Jack and I will investigate and stay here tonight. You stay in a motel for the night, a town over."

The belligerent look that passed over Sam's face told Dean that his brother was going to be stubborn. Sure enough, Sam drew himself to his full height, which pissed Dean off a bit.

"I could be the reason that Angela _doesn't_ die. If I leave, she might die," Sam said, his voice annoying reasonable and calm.

"Jack's with me. Jack won't let her die," Dean said rationally. A small smile played on Jack's lips for a moment with the pleasure of Dean's statement.

"But you and Jack weren't in the vision," Sam said, pursing his lips. "Dean, something wasn't right about the vision. It was just me on the floor. No one else is there. I think it has to be me to save her."

"If you stay, _you'll_ die," Dean exploded. "You realize your visions are the damn future? This isn't an option, Sam!" Dean lowered his voice a bit as a passerby turned to look at him. "You're leaving. End of discussion."

"It's not a definite future - just a possibility. And now we know what to avoid," Sam said stiffly.

"How about this - you stay in a motel in town. The second you get another vision, you tell me. But you're not coming into this house again."

Sam opened his mouth to argue and then shut it.

"Fine," he snapped, the corners of his mouth tilting downward in typical Bitchy Sam way. Dean felt a prickle of irritation towards how difficult Sam was - didn't he understand that he would friggin' die if he stayed?

"We might as well get lunch before we're camped out here tonight," Dean said, glancing at his watch. "Jack, you wanna pick?"

Jack looked surprised. "Me?"

"Sure, kid. Where do you want to eat?"  
Jack stared across the street to the only two restaurants in town. The first was a greasy pizza place. Inside was a checkered, tiled wall and small tables that were stuffed closely together to conserve space.

The second was a small diner with cramped booths and a small bar. It was emptier than the pizza place and darker.

Jack's gaze flickered between the two for nearly fifteen seconds.

"This is a difficult decision," he said, frowning. "I guess…"

He and Sam waited in the silence.

"The pizza place," Jack decided.

* * *

Sam couldn't help but frown at the large pepperoni pizza that was placed in front of them. The cheese was cheap and rubbery - not that he was accustomed to nice cheese, but enough years on the road had helped him grow a strong distaste for it - and hung limply off the edge of the pizza like it'd been scattered on carelessly. Puddles of grease sat on each circle of pepperoni.

Dean didn't seem to care. He ripped a slice off of the pizza and shoved it into his mouth, chewing absentmindedly.

Jack poked at the pizza first before trying it - he hadn't yet eaten pizza - and a look of delight crossed his face.

"This is amazing!" he raved, looking at the pizza with wonder.

Sam regretted not having gotten a salad. In attempt to save money (they hadn't hustled in a long time and the Men of Letters reserve was beginning to get a bit low) he'd agreed to share a pizza with Jack and Dean.

Oh, well, he thought, picking up a slice. It definitely wasn't the first time that he'd have to eat a disgusting pizza.

He finished half of the pizza and lost his appetite, setting the slice down.

"Alright," he said. "So what's the plan?"

Dean swallowed his large bite of pizza with difficulty. "Tonight, Jack and I will wait in the Impala for anything suspicious. You'll be hanging at that motel we passed earlier."

"If you don't text me every half an hour saying that everything's going well, I'm going to come," Sam warned him, picking at the cheese on his pizza. "And I swear, if I get some vision of you and Jack dying…" He couldn't finish the sentence.

Dean shook his head. "This is so weird, talking about visions again," he said. "You haven't… you know, had any of the other psychic stuff going on?"

Sam knew instantly that Dean was referring to his demon powers, and it was an unpleasant thought - even thinking of demon blood made his stomach churn with the memory.

"No," he said quickly. "Just the two visions."

Dean nodded, a small look of relief crossing his face. "How's your head?"

It felt like a explosions were hammering the inside of Sam's head.

"I'm fine," he said as sincerely as possible.

Dean looked at him suspiciously before taking another bite of pizza. "I didn't forget

about the concussion, you know."

Sam had forgotten, and it surprised him a bit. He rubbed his hand against the back of his head. "My concussion's fine. It's minor," he added. The pain in his head was behind his eyes, and it felt identical to the headaches he'd had many years ago with his visions. His concussion ached only slightly on the lower left side of his head, the pain so insignificant that he hardly noticed.

"I'm sorry, Sam. For causing this," Jack said, averting his eyes.

"It was an accident, Jack. You don't need to be sorry," Sam said. "Really. Don't worry

about it."

The waitress came over to their table with the check. She was around Sam's age, with caramel-colored skin and luscious dark hair.

"Thanks," Dean said, smiling at her and then scanning her nametag. "The food was excellent. But not quite as excellent as your service… Trinity."

The woman blushed, and Sam lost interest in watching his brother attempt to flirt with her immediately. He excused himself to the bathroom, noticing with disdain that Dean's lame pickup lines were working on the girl, Trinity.

After relieving himself, he washed his hands in the sink, taking his time to scrub the soap into his hands.

His reflection in the mirror surprised him. His headache was still raging, but it was definitely showing out the outside; his face looked strained and drained. Dark bags were under his eyes and a grotesque red vein in his left eye made him wrinkle his nose in disgust.

Sam was just noticing the blood that was beginning to trickle out of his nose when a surge of throbbing pain nailed him inside of his skull without any warning. The bathroom vanished before his eyes and he was suddenly in the kitchen of a restaurant.

 _The man lying facedown on the floor was so bloody that it took Sam a moment to realize it was him. His hair was matted, his flannel intact except for a bloody tear near his left shoulder. His leg was at an awkward angle, like he'd landed on it wrong._

 _But his chest was rising and falling. He was still alive._

 _The kitchen was very dark; it was the middle of the night._

 _The girl, Angela's daughter, Ella, was near Sam. She looked terrified, anguish on her face._

 _The air in the room was quiet except for the low hum of the freezer in the back of the kitchen. No one else was around except for the girl._

 _That is, until there was shouting from behind the door of the kitchen. It was the sort of door that could swing forwards and backwards, and a small circular window revealed that the door led to the pizza place._

 _It was the kitchen of the pizza place they were in, except it was night._

 _The door was being pounded on, except it would not yield. Behind the door was Dean's muffled voice, shouting, "Sam!"._

The vision was short, but by the time the pizza place bathroom rushed back into his vision, Sam was already on the floor. The back of his head was pounding in protest at having hit a floor twice in twenty-four hours, and now the pressure behind his eyes felt like it was going to burst out of his skull.

He stood up gingerly, his legs feeling shaky, and clutched the wall for support. A nosebleed was now heavily dripping blood down above his lip, and he wiped it messily, feeling the sticky clots smear across his face. He fought the urge to vomit, opting instead to spit bile in the sink.

The vision had changed again. Last time, he'd been dead, and alone. This time, he was alive, and Ella was with him.

Sam bent at the dirty sink and splashed cold water on his face. The headache screamed in his ears and he gripped the edge of the sink with white knuckles. The creak of the bathroom door escaped his notice entirely, and Jack's appearance in the mirror when he looked up made him jump.

"Sam?" Jack said uncertainly. "Are you okay?"

Sam released his grip on the counter, standing up straighter to exude a false sense of strength.

"I'm fine," he said as seriously as possible.

Jack narrowed his eyes. "You're bleeding," he noticed.

Sam instinctively wiped his nose again, and then dismissively wiped his bloody hand on his jeans. "Just a bit of a nosebleed," he said casually, then added, "It's not uncommon for humans."

Jack didn't look convinced. "Do you want me to get Dean?"

Dean would no doubt go full protective-mode on Sam if he found out his nose was bleeding. And no matter how much his head pounded, Sam was _fine_. He didn't need his brother hovering.

"It's alright, Jack. I just need a minute to clean up," Sam said. "Just tell Dean I'll be out in a minute."

Jack nodded, and after casting another concerned expression at Sam, he exited the bathroom.

Sam regained his composure before returning to the booth that Jack and Dean were at. He pushed his hair back, hoping it didn't look too sweaty. He rinsed his face again to get the blood off and stuck a tissue up his left nostril to staunch the bleeding.

Vertigo nearly made him fall over when he turned around and he waited for his vision to creep back slowly as the black tunnel faded. Once he felt clear, he exited the bathroom.

Jack apparently had obeyed and not told Dean that Sam was bleeding out of his nose, because Dean was still flirting with the waitress.

And even more surprising was that he was successful. Trinity was sliding him a piece of paper with her number undoubtedly on it.

"I get off at nine," she said, her voice slightly husky. Her hand brushed Dean's as she swept off with their dirty plates, throwing a suggestive look over her shoulder. Dean watched her until she went through the swinging door - the same door Sam had just seen in his vision.

"Okay, so don't freak out," Sam began, already sensing Dean would not be very tolerant of the fact that he'd had three visions within twenty-four hours. "I just had another vision."

Sure enough, Dean's immediate reaction was to sputter out his pizza and demand if Sam was okay.

"I'm fine," Sam insisted. "But it changed. Now… it's in here."

"Your vision? In this pizza place?" Dean asked, pointing downwards to emphasize.

"Yeah. In the kitchen," Sam said, glancing at the door. He was suddenly distracted as the door to the pizza place breezed open, and in walked Angela and Ella. Angela was holding her daughter's hand, and Ellie was bouncing on her toes as they made their way to a booth on the other side of the restaurant.

Dean's sudden reiteration of his name brought Sam out of his stupor.

"What?" he said, tearing his eyes away from Angela and Ella.

"I said, what happened in the vision? Is anyone going to get hurt?"

"Everyone's alive this time," Sam said, purposely withholding the information that he himself was on the floor bloody.

"And is everyone okay?" Dean said, detecting the omission instantly.

Sam sighed. "I get hurt, okay? But I was breathing in the vision, so I think it'll all be okay. But the weird thing was that she was there with me. You were on the other side of the door," Sam said, nodding to Ella.

Dean pushed his pizza away. "I still don't get how this connects to friggin' Yellow Eyes."

Sam frowned. "Maybe it's not connected to him directly."

"Your visions have always been connected to him," Dean snorted. "Unless he had a kid or something-"

"But the visions were also about the other special kids," Sam reminded him. "Maybe one of them survived."

"No one survived that town but Jake, Sam. I mean, I brought you back from the dead. No one else is left," Dean said, but even he didn't look convinced.

"Maybe someone else was brought back from the dead," Jack suggested. "Like Sam was."

Jack's eyes suddenly went wide, seeing past Sam at something behind him. Sam automatically started to twist around, but not before he was sent flying through the air.

The landing was surprisingly slow and soft. He felt Dean next to him, landing with a grunt on the dirty tiled floor. Sam glanced up to see Jack had sprung to his feet, his eyes glowing golden.

A knife was stuck in the wall where Sam's head had been. Only then did Sam realize that it was Jack who had sent Sam and Dean out of the way; that was why the landing had been magically cushioned.

The waitress, Trinity, who Dean had been hitting on, was poised with another knife in her hand. Her hand was covered in blood. Wordlessly, she slapped her hand to a sigil that Sam had never seen in his life - though it resembled the sigil that they used to get rid of angels - and with a blinding flash of light, Jack was gone.

Sam got to his feet with Dean. He only had a small shotgun filled with salt with him, and he pulled it out as Dean simultaneously took out his own gun.

"Put the knife down," Dean said firmly. "Unless you want your head blown off."

He was bluffing, Sam knew. All they had at the moment was rock salt rounds.

"My, you boys have grown up," Trinity said. Her voice was still husky, but it had a different emphasis to it now. "It's been too long."

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, but somehow he already knew.

"I'm the demon that just crawled his way back from The Empty," the waitress said, and her eyes flashed yellow.

 _ **TBC**_

 **A/N: I was thinking about how Cas said that The Empty is where angels and demons go when they die, and then I was thinking… if Cas woke up the "psychic" in Sam's mind, what if he accidentally woke up Azazel? So, that's where this plot came from - alongside the help of AllShallFade777's superb prompt!**

 **Reviews are greatly appreciated and so are follows and favorites :) thanks so much for reading!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Kirsten let me know very kindly that I accidentally gave Sam, Dean, and Jack aliases before having them call each other by their actual name, so I apologize for that error! Thank you Kirsten!**

 _The waitress, Trinity, who Dean had been hitting on, was poised with another knife in her hand. Her hand was covered in blood. Wordlessly, she slapped her hand to a sigil that Sam had never seen in his life - though it resembled the sigil that they used to get rid of angels - and with a blinding flash of light, Jack was gone._

 _Sam got to his feet with Dean. He only had a small shotgun filled with salt with him, and he pulled it out as Dean simultaneously took out his own gun._

" _Put the knife down," Dean said firmly. "Unless you want your head blown off."_

 _He was bluffing, Sam knew. All they had at the moment was rock salt rounds._

" _My, you boys have grown up," Trinity said. Her voice was still husky, but it had a different emphasis to it now. "It's been too long."_

" _Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, but somehow he already knew._

" _I'm the demon that just crawled his way back from The Empty," the waitress said, and her eyes flashed yellow._

"Long time, no see," Azazel said. He glanced at the cowering group of waiters and customers - Angela and Ella included - and gave them an acknowledging nod.

"Lucifer's got a vessel. You don't need me anymore," Sam said, training his gun on the demon. "So get the hell away from my brother and me. And these people."

"Sam, that was so eleven years ago," Azazel laughed, his voice oddly feminine through the waitress he was possessing. "I've got better ideas now."

"Enlighten us," Dean snarled from Sam's right. He could only hope that Azazel would take the bait and monologue like so many of the monsters they faced did.

"Haven't got time for that," Azazel said conversationally. "I need her heart." He nodded to Angela, who was gripping Ella tightly. "I'll take it now, if you don't mind. It'd be better for it to be… fresh and juicy." He rubbed his hands with anticipation, grinning at their expressions.

"Don't touch anyone," Dean warned. "I'll shoot you - again. And this time, you're not coming back from The Empty."

"You and I both know that's not the Colt," Azazel responded. "I'm not here to listen to your pathetic threats, Dean. Now, Angela - if I could have a minute of your time, please."

"Why her heart?" Dean stalled, desperately hoping that Jack would reappear any moment.

Azazel considered him, and to Dean's relief, he answered. "She's a child of chaos. You know those rulers of the past? Nero, Tiberius, Attila the Hun - those crazy murderous ones that raped and killed their people? Their direct descendants tend to have valuable hearts for spellcasting."

"Child of chaos?" Dean repeated. "She's not one of the psychic children-?"

Azazel's snort of laughter cut him off. "They're all long dead. Except for Sammy. I don't care about them anymore. All I want right now is that woman's heart, and I'll tell you this - if you step out of my way, I'll let you live."

"Go to hell," was Dean's instant reply.

Sam kept his eyes on Azazel. "You're not taking her heart. You're not taking anyone's heart today."

Azazel laughed. "Alright, Sammy, I'd like to see you stop me."

"I can't," Sam admitted, his lips suddenly lifting upwards in satisfaction. "He can."

Jack had reappeared behind Yellow-Eyes and he announced himself with an awkward clearing of his throat. Dean tried not to wince; the kid _really_ lacked ferocity.

"Nephilim," Azazel said, his expression surprised only for the briefest of moments. "You're here just in time for the show." He snapped his fingers and behind them there was a tiny gasp. Dean let himself get distracted; he turned to see Angela looking down, surprised, at her chest.

Her gaze moved to her daughter's face and pain broke across her own face, but before a word could come out of her mouth, she collapsed to the ground with red already blooming under her shirt.

Dean wheeled back around, growling, to see Azazel looking with interest at a bloody heart in his hand.

"I'll save this for later," Azazel said, sticking it into his pocket. "And I was _going_ to stick to adult hearts… but while I'm here…" He shrugged, looking at Ella, who was deadly silent and bent by her mother with tears raining down her cheeks. "Might as well use her heart too."

Jack looked horrified at the scene that had just gone down, his eyes flickering to the scarlet muscle sitting limply in Azazel's hand, but he regained his composure at Dean's urgent look and raised his hand. Golden light pulsed outwards and struck Azazel in his chest. The demon emitted an inhuman, horrible yell, loud and piercing enough to make Dean slap his hands over his ears.

"Get them in the kitchen and out through the back!" he yelled, gesturing towards the crowd of people. Sam nodded his comprehension and began to herd the people towards the kitchen and away from the powerful light Jack was radiating towards Azazel.

Jack's light suddenly switched off like a faucet and Azazel was released from the grip of the nephilim's grace. Yellow-Eyes stood, dusting himself off as though he'd simply tripped on the ground while still keeping a grip on the heart he'd taken from Angela. Jack's eyes widened.

No one had ever before escaped Jack like this.  
"You're a pain," Azazel observed. "Stronger than I thought you'd be. Well, it was great to see you boys again," he said to Dean, "but I've got to be going. Hearts to collect, spells to cast." With that, he was gone.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean yelled, spinning around and feeling the urge to throw something.  
"Dean? Are you okay?" Jack asked. The kid was breathing hard; the amount of power he'd used on Azazel was staggering.

"I'm fine," Dean snapped, feeling red-hot anger that the demon - _the_ demon, the one that they'd wasted their childhood on - was alive and had escaped them.

"Who _was_ that?" Jack asked, his face pale.

"We killed him years ago," Dean snarled. "That douchebag you just met - Azazel - he's the one that started it all."

"Started it all?"  
"Killed our mom. Killed Sam's girlfriend. Killed our dad. Tried to twist Sammy into something evil."

Jack's mouth formed an 'o' and he looked unsure of how to respond to that, so he settled on saying, "We should help Sam and the others."

* * *

"Listen closely - get out the back, and don't look back. Run home, get to your cars, and drive away. Get as far from this restaurant as possible," Sam instructed, ushering the people through the double doors of the kitchen. He had a haunting feeling as he entered; he was walking straight into the vision he'd had only ten minutes previously. But there wasn't time to dwell on that, he had to get these people out.

Their group reached the exit and Sam stayed in the back while urging them to move. With terrified expressions, they all scattered upon reaching the outside like wild mice.

All except for Ella, Angela's daughter. She pulled at Sam, tears slipping down her face.

"My mom," she whispered. "My mom's still in there."

Sam glanced backwards; there was still blinding golden light coming through the window of the swinging door leading into the restaurant.

"Just check," she begged. "See if you can save her." Her voice was choked, but slightly hopeful, and Sam pitied the girl because there was no way that Angela was alive.

He appeased her nonetheless, nodding quickly. "I'll look," he promised, and turned around to give Ella the concrete evidence that her mother was dead.

The moment he turned around, Ella had suddenly tackled him with unnatural strength. Sam hit the floor, winded, and flipped over to crawl backwards; instinct screamed at him that being on the ground was never a good thing.

Ella grabbed the first knife that was near her and came charging at Sam, flipping the knife in the air expertly.

This couldn't be the little girl.

Sure enough, her eyes flickered black. Sam wildly pulled out his shotgun and fired. The sound of rock salt meeting flesh satisfied him and he took the chance to stand up.

The girl was possessed by a demon - likely Azazel's lackey in case something went wrong. She might have had the strength and strategy of the demon, but she was still a little girl, and Sam dived at her. They both fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas-" Sam began, the words falling out of his mouth like second nature.

The demon swung at him with the knife, slashing his left shoulder. It was deep and Sam grunted in pain at the tearing that accompanied the slash.

In the distance he heard Dean calling his name and footsteps. The demon glanced upward, scowling at the sound as well. With a snap of her fingers, the open door that led to the outside slammed shut and the swinging doors, which had been drifting open slightly, seemed to glue themselves together.

"Omnis incursio infernalis adversarii," Sam continued, wrangling himself into a better position to hold down the demon as he spoke. "Omnis congregatio et secta-"

The demon hurled her hand at him and Sam felt an invisible force send him flying backwards. He nailed the wall - fortunately, he missed the hard corner of the table. and then tumbled down to the floor, his foot catching in the sink as he fell. It twisted painfully beneath him and he automatically pushed his weight onto his right foot, continuing the exorcism.

"Diabolica, ergo draco maledicte, ut ecclesiam tuam secura," he said, ducking as the demon's knife came flying at his head. "Tibi facias libertate-"

The demon froze where she was standing, her face twitching. She bellowed and three more knifes came flying towards Sam. The incoming three projectiles made him panic - there was no dodging them - and as he clumsily tumbled to the side, one of them embedded itself into the far right of his right shoulder. His hands went to the spot as he cried out in pain, temporarily abandoning the exorcism. It was gouged through the skin of his shoulder; it had nearly missed him.

The demon's hands were around his neck before he even knew that she had approached him. He choked, kicking futilely at the kitchen floor.

The only weapon he had was shish-kebobbed through his right shoulder.

Thoughts wouldn't come, except for how much he wanted to breathe and how both of his shoulders felt like they were on fire and, God, where was Dean and why wasn't he coming, and his head was still pounding from the vision-

Out of survival instinct Sam ripped the knife from his shoulder, yelling in pain as he did, and thrust it towards the demon. The demon leapt back to avoid getting stabbed, but it was all the time Sam needed.

"Te rogamus, audi nos!" he finished, and Ella's body contorted as black smoke escaped from her mouth and through the vent of the kitchen.

Ella fell to the floor limply, groaning. Sam closed his eyes, feeling incredibly weary suddenly, and slid to the floor. He clutched at his left shoulder; though the right one seemed to be bleeding more, the slash to his left hurt more.

"Dean!" he called weakly, craning his head around to look for his brother. "Dean!"

There was heavy pounding on the swinging doors and a muffled "Sammy!"

Sam pushed himself to his feet. The floor felt like it was swaying beneath his feet and he leaned heavily on the counter. Blood was sticky and clotting beneath his fingers as he clutched his shoulder, moving sluggishly towards the swinging doors.

Dean's face went from angry to concerned the moment he saw Sam through the round, porthole window of the door.

"The door won't open!" Dean said, his voice masked slightly from the shut doors.

Sam started to push but stopped when it made his shoulders throb, and then kicked at it to no avail.

"I just exorcized a demon," he explained. "She put it on supernatural lockdown before I got her."

"Dammit," he heard his brother say distinctly. "Where'd you get hurt?"  
"Just shallow cuts," Sam said, grimacing. Dean's expression told him that his brother saw right through the lie, but considering there was a stuck door between them, there wasn't much they could do.

"Alright. Is the girl okay?" Dean asked, trying to see through the window.

Sam looked back at where Ella was now sitting up, looking disoriented and rubbing her chest where Sam had hit her with rock salt.

"I'll go check on her," Sam said. "Can you try the windows and other door, see if you can get them open?"  
"Yeah," Dean said, and then frowned at Sam's shoulders. "Keep pressure on those. Use your shirt," he added before taking off.

* * *

Dean stopped at Jack before going around to the back.

"You good, kid?" he asked, slowing down.

Jack just screwed his eyes shut in response. "Fine," he said, apparently learning the staple Winchester response to pain.

Whatever the sigil was the Azazel had sent Jack away with, it had spent his energy - not to mention that Jack had drained himself fighting Azazel.

"How long will it take for you to juice back up?" Dean asked, both concerned for the kid and hopeful that he'd be able to bust Sam out of the supernatural lockdown.

Jack just groaned in response. Dean took that as a relative answer and exited the pizza place, making his way to the back of the restaurant.

Sure enough, the doors and windows were sealed. He found a discarded metal pipe behind the dumpster and swung it at the window, but only managed to rattle his bones when the pipe hit the unyielding glass. The demon had definitely put on the ultimate lockdown, he thought sourly, beginning to feel uneasy about how he'd get Sam out.

Jack would be able to get through the glass, Dean reasoned. They'd wait until Jack got his mojo back and then they could smash through the locked doors.

He circled back to the front of the restaurant and entered to find Jack in the same place, curled up on the floor. The only difference now was that there was a puddle of puked pizza next to him. Dean wrinkled his nose at the small but bent by the kid all the same.

"That wasn't fun," Jack said, cracking his eyes open.

"Just wait until your first hangover," Dean replied lightly. "You want to move onto the booth? It'd be a bit more comfortable."

"Good here," Jack said into the floor, and Dean shrugged. He returned to the porthole swinging doors.

"Sam?" he called. He could see Sam and the little girl conversing in the left corner of the kitchen. He didn't doubt that Sam was explaining what had happened to her.

The little girl nodded solemnly at whatever Sam was saying to her. Her chin trembled again, like she was about to cry, but then she stood up straighter and hugged Sam, blood and all. Sam hugged her back, looking slightly surprised. Ella had to be no older than eight or nine.

Once they had detached, Sam pointed towards the door and then got up to go speak to Dean. Dean was struck by Sam's slow movements. His right shoulder was bleeding heavily - though the left wasn't too much lighter - and the blood had destroyed his shirt. The sight scared Dean and he pushed at the door, unsurprised yet incensed when it didn't open.

Sam limped over to the door, putting most of his weight on one foot.

"What happened to your foot?" Dean asked, frowning at his inability to help his brother.

"Twisted it," Sam said. "Is Jack okay? Where'd Azazel go?"

"Jack will live. He's pretty drained," Dean said. "Yellow-Eyes took off. Is there any other way out of the kitchen?"

"I haven't checked yet. I'll see if we can get through a vent or something," Sam said. "Keep an eye on Jack." He started to turn around but Dean knocked on the door.

"Sam. Be careful."

Sam's expression turned annoyed. "I'm always careful."

Dean scowled at him. "I mean it. You're bleeding and it might be awhile until Jack can get you out of here if there's no other way out. Keep drinking water and take it easy."

"Yeah. I will," Sam assured him. "You should take care of Angela. The police will be here any minute."

Dean nodded. Montour Falls was so small that there was no local police department, but it wouldn't be long before the cops from another town showed up. He didn't doubt that the people who witnessed Angela's death already called 911.

* * *

Sam surveyed his wounds. They hurt like a bitch and needed stitches, but fortunately they were clotting well. He pressed the towels he'd found tighter against his shoulders and limped over to the vent above the oven.

It was a large vent, big enough that he could crawl into. He crawled onto the counter and stood shakily, pulling at the grate protecting the vent. Between his injured foot and the dizzying feeling that accompanied bleeding, he almost fell, but caught himself just in time.

"Sam?" Ella asked timidly from the floor. He'd acquainted himself with her when she'd woken up to make her feel more at ease. "Why don't we wait for the police to come?"

Sam yanked at the grate fiercely and once again almost toppled off of the counter. "The police ask questions," he explained, "and even though we didn't do anything wrong, it's better for us to take off."

Ella seemed confused. "But they could get us out of here," she said.

Sam acknowledged that. He hadn't told Ella that she'd been possessed by a demon; instead, he'd opted to say she'd fallen asleep. She didn't know it was a supernatural lockdown.

Worse, she didn't remember her mom dying. Sam couldn't bring himself to say anything, so instead he had told her they were accidentally locked in by the chef. It was a lame excuse, but Ella bought it.

As for the police, Sam knew that he couldn't explain to them why the doors and windows wouldn't open or even break.

He picked up a meat grinder and slammed it at the screws of the vent. They should have popped off, or at the very least bent under the pressure, but they didn't budge. Sam swore under his breath - the demon hadn't forgotten any exit.

He climbed down off of the table, the restaurant spinning dangerously. The movement jostled both of his shoulders and he winced, lifting the towel to see he was still bleeding.

"Are you going to die?" Ella asked, her eyes wide.

"No," Sam assured her. "It's just a scratch."

"You should clean them," Ella said, her small voice wise. "My mommy always says to wash scratches, or germs could get in them."

"I'm going to wash it," he said. "I'm just going to keep searching for a way out, because-"

He was cut off by the sound of sirens.

* * *

Dean met the cops in front of the pizza place and immediately showed them his FBI badge.

"Hey. Did you get the call about the body?" he asked, stowing his badge away.

The two cops that had arrived (man, Dean really liked small towns) nodded. "When did you get here?"

Dean hesitated. If he lied and said he wasn't there at the time of the crime, the evidence of all of the eye witnesses could easily get him into trouble.

"Yeah," he said. There was no choice but to lead the cops inside. Apprehension put his nerves on edge as he entered; Jack was still groaning on the floor and Angela was lying cold in a crumpled mess.

But what Dean cared about was the police discovering the supernatural lockdown; they'd bring in all sorts of backup and machinery to try to get inside, and he was sure it would be much quicker to wait for Jack to get up to full speed. They'd only complicate matters and get the city police involved, and that was _not_ on Dean's to-do list.

He gave Jack a meaningful look as they entered and bent by Angela's body.

"God," the first cop said. He had an unusually high voice. "She sits behind me at church."

The second cop said nothing except turned pale.

"First murder?" Dean confirmed. They both nodded again, like bobbleheads.

"Great," he muttered, low enough so that they wouldn't hear.

"I'm going to call in the Ithaca department," the high-pitched voice cop said, fumbling in his jacket pocket for a phone.

Dean turned again to Jack and shot him another meaningful look. Jack's expression in return was a mixture of understanding and exhaustion. He stood up, again groaning as he did so, and came up from behind the police just as the cop dialed the number to contact the Ithaca department. With a small touch to both of their shoulders, both cops sank to the floor, fast asleep.

Dean stooped and picked up the phone, lifting it to his ear just in time to hear the voice of the Ithaca cop on the other line.

"Hello?" the voice said. "Do you have new intel?"

The tone of the voice made it sound like the cop on the other line already knew about what went down at the pizza place. Dean mimicked the high pitched voice of the cop.

"Yep. It was a prank call," he said. "Damn group of drunk college students thought it would be funny to say someone died here."

"Shit. Sorry, Steve," the cop on the other line said.

"Yeah," Dean responded. "It's all clear here."

"Thanks. Talk to you later."

"Bye," Dean said briefly, and snapped the phone shut. He sighed a breath of relief; the police situation was cleared up.

Only then did he realize Jack was unconscious. He bent by the kid's side, feeling his pulse and breathing easy when he felt it. He picked Jack up with a bit of difficulty and laid him onto a booth, hoping desperately that the kid would wake up soon and refreshed.

He returned to the swinging doors to see Sam standing, hunched over, by the sink. His brother's flannel was discarded, and he was wearing only his tee shirt with the sleeves pulled up high to reveal his shoulders. He was washing the wound out, apparently, and Ella was standing behind him nervously.

The blood was coming thickly out of both what looked like a stab wound to the edge of Sam's shoulder and the thick slash running from the top of his left shoulder to by his armpit. Frustration rose in Dean sharply; he wanted to stitch both wounds and get his brother to rest and eat a food high in sugar to compensate for the blood loss.

But he could only watch as his brother rinsed the blood off of himself, his face screwed up with pain. The blood returned quickly, flowing even quicker after being rinsed with water.

Dean was about to yell through the door to have him sit but Sam was one step ahead of him - he moved to sit against the cabinets.

Ella watched him warily, her eyes moving to his blood, before she slid down next to him. Dean watched to make sure that Sam was pressing the towels tightly against himself before saying through the door, "Sam, you need to drink water."

Sam's eyes lifted to the door window too slowly for Dean's liking. He amended his statement.

"Ella - see those cups on the counter? Could you pour Sam a glass of water?"

Ella looked a bit frightened at being addressed by him but quickly scurried to her feet to do as he said. Sam looked at Dean with protest in his face but Dean shook his head firmly.

"Dude, we don't screw with blood loss," he said. "And drink it all."

Ella inserted a straw into the cup and handed it to Sam, who obediently took several sips of it. Dean tried to ignore the blood streaking out of his brother's shoulder and the stains all over the floor and counter.

"How's Jack?" Sam asked, sitting up straighter. "Did he say where the sigil sent him?"

Dean shook his head. "Not yet. All I know is that it wore him out and wasn't fun."

Sam momentarily removed the pressure from his shoulder to push his hair out of his face. He looked at the towel that he'd been holding against his shoulder and Dean didn't miss the look of disgust on his brother's face as he saw the thoroughly stained fabric.

"Ella, keep an eye on him," Dean instructed, and moved back to check on Jack.

Jack was stirring and his eyes lifted lazily as Dean came over.

"Sorry, Dean," he said thickly. "Hurts."

"Where?" Dean said, instantly looking for injury.

"All over. Sigil… not good."

"Are you still able to fly? Could you zap into the kitchen and get Sam and Ella out?" Dean asked. Half of him felt guilty for asking Jack a favor when clearly the kid was burned out, but the other half was too worried about Sam to care.

Jack frowned, a look of deep concentration on his face. To Dean's disappointment, he only ended up dry-heaving. Dean put a hand on his back.

"Choke your way through it," he said, keeping his voice bright for Jack's sake. "It's not fun, man."

* * *

Sam was hurting more than he let on. He felt ready to pass out at any moment, and fought against the feeling for fear that Dean would take to the pizza place's walls with a bulldozer.

His mouth felt dry and heat surged through him, so much that a cold shower sounded incredibly appealing. His head was light, like he wasn't getting oxygen, and the kitchen kept sporadically darkening as the edges of his vision was swallowed by the darkness of near-passing out.

"My daddy bled like you once," Ella said.

Sam ignored the nausea that was rising in his stomach. "Really? What happened?"

"We were sledding. The snow wasn't deep. He fell off and his head hit a rock."

"Was he okay?" Sam asked.

Ella's face contracted. "He's at the hospital. We visit him sometimes but he never wakes up," she said, her face downcast.

Sam was caught off guard and wasn't quite sure how to answer that. "I'm sorry, Ella."

"It's okay. My mommy says that he could wake up. I think he will someday soon. I feel it."

A stake of pain drove itself through Sam's heart, but he still couldn't bring himself to tell the girl that her mother was dead. He looked away, unable to make eye contact with her.

"Does it hurt?" Ella asked.

"What? My shoulders?"

"Yeah."

"Not too much," Sam said, smiling. "You know when you fall and scrape your knees?"

"Yeah. That happened to me last week," Ella said.

Sam repositioned his towels. "It's like that, only a bit deeper."

"Can I see it?" Ella asked hesitantly, her face round with curiosity at the amount of blood.

"It's gross looking. Are you sure?" Sam asked, unsure of whether most kids saw blood like this. He and Dean certainly saw their fair share of blood growing up.

"Yeah," Ella said, her voice slightly eager, so Sam lifted up the towel and let the girl get a full look at the wound.

"Wow," she said. "It looks painful."

"It is," Sam agreed.

"I want to be a doctor. I want to help hurt people like you," Ella said. "My dad was a doctor."

"I think you'd make a great doctor, Ella," Sam said, smiling at her.

Dean's stressed face appeared in the door window at that moment to see Sam showing Ella the wound.

"What the hell?" he mouthed, but Sam just shook his head at him.

Dean gave him a weird look and then said, "Sam, Jack says that in several hours he feels that he could be able to fly in and get you out. Around sundown, give or take a half an hour."

Sam felt a lurch in his chest at the thought of hanging onto his shoulders without pain medication or stitches for several hours, but he nodded his understanding.

That's when his head exploded yet again.

* * *

Dean was about to turn around and return to Jack when Sam suddenly jerked as though electrocuted and fell sideways to the floor.

His limbs were stiff, his hands grasping outwards at nothing. The towels fell from his shoulders which began to bleed more freely without the pressure.

Ella scrambled away, scared by the sudden movement.

"Sam!" he yelled, but his brother couldn't hear him; he was having a vision.

Sam's blood was beginning to pool on the floor. Dean slammed at the door, willing it to bust open, but it didn't budge. He yelled at Ella to put pressure on Sam's wounds but the little girl was frozen in terror at Sam's stiff body and unseeing eyes.

Dean's chest shattered with fear as Sam suddenly cried out and he began to convulse.

 _ **TBC**_

 **A/N: For some reason, Azazel is REALLY hard to write, so I apologize if he comes across as OOC (I'm pretty sure he does, but hopefully the story is still okay).**

 **Also, I understand that the police wouldn't have left that easily, but I was having trouble thinking of a reason that they wouldn't be there so I guess that was the best I had to offer :)**

 **Sorry for the dramatic cliffhanger. I promise I have a plan!**

 **Thanks so much for reading, and I also want to thank the many people that favorited and followed this story and left reviews! It means the world to me!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I realized as I was writing this that it was reminding me of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, and I was wondering if any of you also noticed that? :)

Forgot to do this earlier, so, disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

There will be probably 2 more parts after this, but I can't say for sure yet! Enjoy!

" _Sam!" he yelled, but his brother couldn't hear him; he was having a vision._

 _Sam's blood was beginning to pool on the floor. Dean slammed at the door, willing it to bust open, but it didn't budge. He yelled at Ella to put pressure on Sam's wounds but the little girl was frozen in terror at Sam's stiff body and unseeing eyes._

 _Dean's chest shattered with fear as Sam suddenly cried out and he began to convulse._

Sam had been feeling relieved that his headache was finally going away when the vision hit. He briefly glimpsed Dean's face in the window of the swinging door before he was whirled away into a different landscape.

 _He was on a beach. It was dismal and cold. The sand was packed hard and seaweed slathered the ground messily, a small stream trickled from the top of the beach and into the water, and small waves lapped at the ground. Open ocean shimmered dully in the gray light of the cloudy day._

 _Few people were there._

 _The people nearest were a girl and a boy, around twenty years old. They were laughing and chattering, both with British accents._

" _You realize the report is due tomorrow, right? And we're here at a beach?" the girl was saying._

" _I thought the air would help!" the boy said, blushing. "We can head back if you want-"_

" _No, of course not, I mean… I'm having fun."_

 _They fell into an awkward silence; both embarrassedly looking away. The boy suddenly reached into the sand and pulled out a blue piece of seaglass._

" _Look! It matches your eyes," he said, smiling.  
Azazel arrived faster than the blink of an eye. He didn't dawdle in greeting the couple; instead, he leaned forward speechlessly and with a thrust he ripped his hand into the boy's chest. The girl screamed, tumbling backwards, as Azazel groped in the boy's chest before pulling out his heart. _

" _Hey! What're you doing?" another man was yelling, running over to them, but quickly as he arrived, Azazel vanished, the heart in his hand._

 _The boy fell limply onto his side, the blood clumping with the sand and the girl's shrill screams echoing across the beach._

Sam came back to reality sharply, inhaling deeply as he pushed himself upwards.

Dean's panicked face was in the window of the door still, and it swiftly changed to a look of anger as Sam made eye contact with him. Sam didn't doubt that his brother was pissed at the current circumstances.

Ella was a solid fifteen feet away, curled in a ball and looking at him like he would attack her any second.

"Dean!" Sam gasped, clumsily placing the towels back against his bloody shoulders. "Someone else is going to die - but we can't save them - Dean, we need to get out of here, Azazel's only going to kill more people-" He pushed himself into a sitting position, his vision tunnelling briefly.

"Sam, slow down!" Dean shouted from the other side of the door. "What did you see?"

"Another innocent person's heart is going to be ripped out," Sam said quickly, annoyed at the fact that Dean couldn't have inferred that information. "I just saw it."

"Do you know where?" Dean's face was anxious, more anxious than Sam had seen it in a long time.

"Somewhere in England. They were British," Sam said, recalling the vision. "If we can catch a plane, we might be able to-"

"Sam," Dean cut him off. "We can't fly to England."

Sam was caught off guard. "What? Dean, he's going to _die_. We can't just sit here and let it happen."

"As much as I hate that he's going to die, we _have_ to sit here. For one, the stupid lockdown the demon put on the place is still around. Jack doesn't have the energy to fly you out yet and when he does I doubt that he could fly us across the Atlantic. Also, what happens when we get there and you have another vision of Azazel killing someone here in the States? We're staying here."

The second half of Dean's monologue was lost on Sam. A wave of nausea made him screw his eyes shut and press his hands against his throbbing temples. The kitchen suddenly was extremely warm, like someone had turned on all of the stoves. He opened his eyes to see fuzzy shadows dancing in front of him.

"Dean, I think I'm going to pass out," he said woozily, a slight ringing beginning to sing in his ears.

He could see Dean's mouth moving but by now the ringing was too loud, and the dancing shadows swallowed him whole.

* * *

"Dammit," Dean swore, seeing Sam pass out. It didn't surprise him, considering the blood Sam had lost, but that didn't mean that it didn't scare him.

"Ella!" he said loudly, and the little girl's head turned toward him startlingly quickly with wariness in her eyes. "Come here!"

She only stared at him, fear apparent in her face.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I promise," Dean assured her, trying to keep the impatience out of his tone.

She got to her feet, trepidation in her every movement, and she approached the door, giving Sam's unconscious body a wide berth.

"I need you to help my brother. Can you press the towels against him?"

"But there's too much… blood," she whispered, her forehead wrinkling with the word.

Dean tried to not let his exasperation show. "Exactly. That's why I need you to help him. He's going to die if no one helps him."

She glanced backwards at Sam. He was slack against the cupboard, slumped over onto his left side slightly. The blood, unstaunched, was still trickling out and puddling beneath him. His face was pale and his hair stringy, wet with sweat.

"Doctors aren't afraid of blood," Ella suddenly told Dean, and she cautiously turned around and edged closer to Sam.

The towels, which had originally been white, were completely rusty-colored with blood, but nevertheless Ella picked up both, and leaning over Sam, pressed them down into the sticky, blood-soaked wounds.

Dean breathed a sigh of relief that there was someone - albeit a seven year old girl - helping his brother. He turned around and jumped to see that Jack had come up behind him silently.

"I can fly in," Jack said, looking slightly green.

Dean frowned. "You look like crap. Didn't you say that it would be several hours-?"

Jack swayed slightly. "But Sam will die."

Dean wasn't arguing with that. "If you're sure, then go ahead and try. Don't hurt yourself, kid," he added, and Jack nodded.

With a flutter of wings he was gone, and a sudden loud crash in the kitchen brought Dean back to the window. Jack had crash-landed onto the stack of pots and pans, and all of them had tumbled to the floor.

The ruckus ended with a ringing metallic sound. Ella had leapt backwards from the sound, yelping at the sudden appearance of Jack.

"You good?" Dean yelled, and Jack stood up from the pile of pots resolutely, wiping his hand across his bloody nose. Dean took that as a yes.

Jack didn't waste any time. He gripped Ella's shoulder and then maneuvered into a crouched position so that he could reach Sam's shoulder. Dean watched with bated breath as the nephilim closed his eyes in concentration, and with a flutter of wings, they vanished from the kitchen.

He looked around the empty pizza place wildly, waiting for them to reappear any second. There was no returning flutter of wings.

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered, scrubbing his face with his hand, when suddenly there was a very loud, prolonged ruffle of wings. Jack, Sam, and Ella tumbled into sight, the fluttering sound of Jack's wings rapid as though he were trying to keep them from crash-landing.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, and ran to his brother's side, beyond relieved that now he could aid his brother and not be stuck behind a supernatural lockdown.

Sam's eyes were half open.

"Sam - can you hear me? We need to get you stitched up, buddy, you're still bleeding," Dean said, his hands brushing the wounds to examine the damage closely.

"How's Jack?" Sam said weakly, lifting his head up.

There was no answer. Dean quickly moved to Jack's side, feeling his pulse.

"I think he's just wiped," Dean said, feeling the thump of his heartbeat. "He wasn't quite ready to zap into the kitchen yet."

Sam started to struggle his way into a sitting position.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded. "You'll pass out again."

"I'm fine. I haven't lost that much blood," Sam admitted. "It looks worse than it is. Not hypovolemic shock or anything. Just a vasovagal response."

Dean shook his head. "I don't know what you're saying, dude."

"My point is, it's not dangerous blood loss. More like if I donated a lot of blood," Sam said seriously. Dean made eye contact with him and decided that his brother was being sincere, despite the many times they had lied to each other about being okay.

"And you're going to have to carry Jack," Sam continued, pulling himself to his feet and holding the edge of the table tightly. "You can't carry both of us."

Dean stared at his brother's insolent face and nodded. "Alright. Let's get out of here. The car is across the street."

They began to exit the pizza place when Sam suddenly stopped, and Dean almost walked into him.

"Ella?" he asked, turning back around.

 _Shit. I forgot about the little girl,_ Dean thought, and hoped desperately that the little girl hadn't seen her mother dead on the floor - after all, she'd been possessed when her mother was killed-

"Mommy!"

 _Dammit, they were too late. I should have hid the mom's body. I shouldn't have let Ella see her, I was too preoccupied with Sam, dammit, dammit!_

He jogged over beside the girl, who was now shaking with tears and crying out for her mother despite not getting any response.

A quick phone call to 911 could resolve their problems, and they could take off. Not Ella's problems, that was for sure, and a pang went through Dean's chest.

How many times had this happened? He and Sam cared too much about each other, and others got hurt in the process. It was too late for Ella's mom.

He ignored the stabbing guilt in his heart and dialed 911.

"Hello. Yeah, I just went into the pizza place off of Main Street and there's a dead body and two unconscious cops," Dean reported, and hung up before they could ask him for information.

"Ella, we can't stay here," he said, bending slightly to be at the little girl's eye level. "The cops are on their way. Can you stay here and wait for them?"

Ella's breaths were choked and she was hyperventilating slightly.

"You were really strong. I can't thank you enough for helping my brother."

Ella's wide eyes brimmed over with tears that spilled onto her cheeks. She could only stare at him, as though in shock.

"Ella, take a deep breath. I wish to hell that this had gone differently. I'm… I'm so sorry," he said, and tore his eyes away from the little girl crying over her mother's dead body. He brushed past Sam stonily, unable to even linger to help his brother. The guilt was too much for him to stay in that building.

* * *

The Impala was only a block away from the pizza place but it felt excessively far to Sam. His shoulders didn't hurt that much (at least, relative to pain he'd had in the past). The real problem was with his foot that he'd twisted when the demon had thrown him across the kitchen. Dean immediately noticed him limping and helped him walk over to the car, even while holding Jack bridal style, but he was unusually wordless the entire way.

Sam too felt the penetrating guilt at the mother having died but something about the shock of seeing Azazel again kept him from achieving levels of guilt that Dean clearly had.

"Dean, you can't think too much about it," he said quietly as Dean opened up the passenger door for him and made sure he got in okay. Sam waited until Jack was placed carefully in the backseat and Dean had climbed into the front seat to finish.

"We can't think about her right now. Azazel's back, and now we just have to do what we always do. Locate the monster," Sam said, putting a positive spin on it for the sake of his brother.

Dean pressed on the gas harder than he usually did as the sound of sirens became audible. They swung out onto the road and took off, and the town was so small that within thirty seconds it was already in their rearview mirror.

"What about the people in England?" Sam prompted.

Dean's eyes flickered over to him but he didn't say anything.

"We can't just do _nothing_ about it."

Dean sighed. "Sam, I get it, and I want to save them too. But you're giving me nothing here. Do you know what part of England they were in, let alone what beach? Were there any signs, or distinguishing features that could help us?"

Sam hesitated and shook his head defeatedly.

"Then there's nothing we can do. For now, we need to hole up in a motel and get you stitched up. And we can't take off with Jack on an empty tank," Dean said, his eyes glancing back at the mirror to make sure the police weren't following them.

* * *

"Hold still."

"It's a bit hard when you're yanking the needle through my skin carelessly-"

"Not carelessly. I don't want you to start bleeding again, dumbass."

Sam grit his teeth and winced as Dean sewed another stitch in his shoulder. "How many more?"

"About four left, I think," Dean said, and Sam noticed that the next stitch went in a bit gentler.

"Here, Jack. You should learn how to do this," Sam said suddenly, beckoning Jack over. Jack had woken up, exhausted, an hour earlier. He'd drank six entire bottles of water within that time - apparently nephilims could really drink and Sam didn't want to think about when Jack started drinking alcohol.

"Watch Dean do the next stitch, and then you try one," Sam said. "It's important for hunting, if for some reason you couldn't heal someone and they were bleeding heavily."

Sam could feel Dean's hands tense against his shoulder. "Sam, maybe we should teach Jack how to do stitches on something smaller. Not a gushing shoulder wound-"

"I trust him," Sam said easily. "Watch how he does it, Jack."

Sam heard Dean grumble something under his breath before demonstrating how to put the needle in and weave it through the skin.

"So," Jack said, his voice curious and focused. "I just stick it in… here?"

There was a sharp pinch in Sam's skin and he heard Dean intake a deep breath.

"Uhh… not quite. You went a bit too far to the left-"

"Oh… sorry, Sam, I didn't mean to stick it there," Jack said, his voice apologetic. "So do I just pull the needle out and try again?"

There was constrained stress in Dean's voice. "Yeah. And go slower this time so I can tell you if it's the right spot."  
The sensation of the needle sliding out of his skin made Sam wince again.

"Right there," Dean said, and he pressed his finger lightly against a spot on the wound.

"Okay," Jack said, and there was another pinch. Sam felt like a pincushion.

"I think I did it," Jack said, uncertain, after a moment; his statement more like a question.

"Now I can tie it up," Dean said, and there was movement behind Sam as Jack shifted to let Dean finish.

Sam got up, carefully stretching to test his newly sewn shoulders. He made his way to his duffel to pull out a few painkillers for his headache and grab his laptop.

"You should rest," Dean said, giving Sam and his laptop a pointed look.

Sam paused, clutching his laptop; he was so close to research that he could feel it. "I need to figure out what Azazel's doing," Sam countered.

Dean's expression was withering, so Sam tried again.

"Look, just give me an hour or two online to figure a few things out," he said. "You and Jack can go to sleep. I'll work in the bathroom."

Working in the bathroom was not unfamiliar to him. To this day it still reminded him of countless hours of doing homework in the motel bathrooms while Dean and his dad slept.

Dean sighed. "Alright. Just don't stay up too late, okay? Those were some nasty shoulder wounds. You need to get rest."

"I know," Sam said, anxious to get out of his brother's protective gaze. "Goodnight."

He moved into the bathroom and shut the door to block out the light so that Dean and Jack could sleep peacefully. For good measure he placed a towel at the crack at the bottom of the door so that no light would go through, He arranged himself into the most comfortable position possible on the edge of the bathtub, leaning over his laptop and ignoring his aching shoulders.

* * *

Dean woke up when the piercing early morning light began to shine directly into his face. He groaned, sitting up. Jack was in the queen bed opposite him, and Sam was collapsed on the other bed. Dean had taken the couch.

If only he'd shut the curtains all the way, he thought with irritation, knowing that now that he was up, he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep.

He wasn't surprised that Sam was still asleep. He'd woken up around midnight to find Sam still awake and researching, and after a forceful whispered argument Sam had gone to bed without even telling Dean what he had found online. Jack had never slept this long in his life, but Dean supposed after the energy he had expended the day before that the kid really needed it.

He went out to grab breakfast while they slept. He wasn't really sure what Jack liked yet, so he picked up three egg sandwiches and three coffees. The town they were staying in was about two hours south of Montour Falls; it was a dumpy little town in The Middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania.

The morning was humid and sunny, preceding what would be a hot day. Dean took off his jacket and rolled down the windows of his Baby, enjoying the thumping beat of Journey and the breeze on his face.

Azazel was back. But Dean had killed him before. He didn't doubt that he could send Yellow-Eyes's ass straight back to the Empty.

* * *

Sam was up and about when Dean got back to the motel. Jack was still asleep, but the color had returned to his cheeks and he was beginning to toss around in his sleep, on the verge of consciousness.

"I found a lot last night," Sam said to Dean the moment he walked in, the fervor in his eyes that could only be fueled by the success of research.

His little brother, ever the geek.

"Let's hear it," Dean said, flopping onto the empty bed and unwrapping his egg sandwich. A cheesy, greasy scent wafted through the room, accompanied by the hazelnut of the coffee.

"Get this - Azazel wasn't lying to us. Children of chaos are apparently a thing. I found all sorts of lore on it," Sam said, carefully opening up his laptop and turning up the brightness. He quickly typed a few words into the search bar and clicked on a link.

"So, children of chaos are the descendents of any person who got a special place in Hell," Sam summarized. "All those people that were at the deepest parts of Hell, anyone who was recognized for their murder, deceit, treachery, whatever they did - their children are called children of chaos."

"What do their hearts have to do with it? Azazel wanted their hearts," Dean said, handing Sam an egg sandwich from the bag. Sam accepted it without looking and unwrapped it.

"I found an answer to that too. Apparently, the sins of the ancestors that were evil have a heavy price on their heart. It kind of relates to that Egyptian lore, where your heart is weighed against a feather."

Dean remembered that; they'd dealt with that once. It hadn't been very fun.

"Anyway, their hearts were so heavy with sin that their descendents have such light hearts in contrast that it makes them valuable. See, they have evil blood, but pure hearts. It's a powerful combination," Sam said, scrolling through the page.

"How come we've never heard of this before?" Dean said, looking at the images Sam had found. "I mean, evil blood plus pure heart sounds pretty important."

"It's a powerful combination, but it doesn't change the person," Sam answered. "Their hearts don't have magic powers or anything else supernatural. But, Azazel said that the hearts are good for spellcasting. So, I researched _that_ , and what I found wasn't good."

Jack shifted in bed behind them, and Dean glanced over to see him sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

"Hey, kid. How're you feeling?"

"I feel... improvement, I think," Jack said, looking unsure.

"Well, that's good. Here. I got you an egg sandwich. Refuel," Dean said, tossing it at him. He turned his attention back to Sam, who was more forlorn than he liked. "What's not so good?"

"The only spell that I could find that uses the hearts of children of chaos," Sam began, "is a spell that opens the doors to the Empty. The lore on it was really sketchy, and it took a bit of hacking into museum records and Greek deciphering, but I gathered that general idea. If Azazel collects enough hearts of children of chaos - I'm guess around 700 - he can open the doors."

"Son of a bitch," Dean said softly. "Does that mean that every single entity in there would-"

"Be free to roam Earth," Sam finished. "All of the demons and angels we've ever killed."

"That doesn't make sense. Why would Azazel want the angels coming back? There's got to be hundreds of thousands of them in there."

"Maybe so, but I'd bet that there are millions of demons in there," Sam said. "The demons that would come out of the Empty would seriously outnumber any number of angels that-"

Sam cut off so suddenly that it surprised Dean. His hands flew to his head, his eyes screwed tightly closed.

"Dammit!" Dean swore, holding his brother up to keep him from toppling off of his chair.

The vision ended sooner than Dean would have expected.

"Fredericksburg!" were Sam's first words. "Dean, we need to get to Virginia-"

"How much time do we have?"

"Until tonight. Azazel's killing an old man tonight, we need to leave now," Sam said, standing up quickly. He began to throw items into his duffel bag, a determined expression on his face.

"Shouldn't we make a plan first?" Dean asked. "We shouldn't just take off. I mean, come on Sam, has improvising ever gotten us anywhere?"

Sam whirled around, disbelief crossing his face. "This isn't something we can take our time on. I mean, Dean, I haven't had these damn visions since I was twenty-three. We can't just _ignore_ them."

"I'm not saying we ignore them," Dean said, irritated. "I'm saying that we shouldn't blast out of here like we're on fire and instead we should take the time to plan. We didn't plan before Montour Falls and you ended up locked in a kitchen bleeding out!"

Sam's mouth flattened downward quickly. "We don't have time to plan. It takes five hours to get there, and then we need time to scout out and talk to the old man to make sure he's safe. Besides, since when have you cared about thorough planning?"

"I care when it's a half-assed idea. Besides, what if it's a trap?" Dean said, his voice getting dangerously close to a yell. "Azazel knows that you can see these people dying beforehand. What if he knows we're coming and kills us all? That ain't going to do the old man any good!"

Sam's nose flared in frustration. "We can plan in the car on the way there. You're just afraid that the old man is going to die and there's going to be another death on our hands."

The words hung in the air.

"Do you know how many deaths are on our hands?" Dean said, stepping closer to Sam, who only drew himself to his tallest. "More than I can count. And yeah, I don't want the old man dying. But news flash, Sam - _we_ could be dying."

Sam didn't relent. "If we were going to die, I'd have seen it. I would've had a vision about it."

Sam's logic made sense but it offered no reassurance to Dean, especially since Sam sounded like he was going to convince himself.

"I don't care if you haven't seen it. Like I said, it's a trap. And traps aren't supposed to be detected easily," Dean said angrily.

Jack was watching them with fear in his eyes at their fighting. He looked like he wanted to say something, but neither Sam nor Dean gave him time to speak.

Sam took a deep breath. "Look, I'm leaving either way. I want to get there early so that I can research once I'm there. I'm not jumping into this thing without looking, Dean. I just want to plan once I'm there, not from this motel in the middle of Pennsylvania."

"You're not leaving. I won't let you," Dean said tersely.

Surprise flickered across Sam's face. "You can't tell me what to do. I'm not a kid, Dean. I'm an adult."

"And when I think that your life will be in danger by going to friggin' Virginia, I'm saying that you're not going. Yeah, you're an adult, but when you make a stupid decision, I'm still going to tell you that's not happening."

Sam sneered at him in a very un-Sam-like way. "You're just scared, Dean. You're scared that the man will die and it will be your fault. But _wake up_. There are more important things than your feelings at stake and if you keep me here one minute longer it'll be your fault that the man dies."

It was a low blow and felt like a physical slam to Dean's chest. Even Sam looked pained at the words and he turned away from Dean's face.

"I'm going to Fredericksburg," he said flatly. "Whether you want me to or not." He swung his duffel over his shoulder.

"How the hell do you think you're going to get there?" Dean asked, knowing full well that the Impala's keys were in his pocket.

"Bus."

"Sam, don't go." Dean's voice was edging on desperation and he hated himself for it. He stiffened his tone, made it more forceful. "We go in all together or not at all. If it's a trap, Azazel will kill you. We don't have the Colt."

"Well, I'll save the man and we can worry about killing Azazel later," Sam said, and opened the motel door. "I'll do it myself, if you can't come with me."

Dean was swinging at him before he realized what he was doing. His fist connected with Sam's cheekbone; Sam hadn't been expecting the punch and it knocked him off of his feet and onto the floor.

Jack yelled from behind Dean and that was what brought Dean back to reality. He restrained himself from landing another blow on his brother, and breathing hard, sat back down onto the bed.

"Damn, Sam, I'm sorry," Dean said as Sam wordlessly got up.

"It's done, Dean," Sam said sharply. "And it's not changing my decision."

Jack suddenly stood up. "Stop it!"

His voice was enough to stop Sam in his tracks and make him turn around.

Jack's face was lined with concern and his eyes were downcast, almost as though he were ready to cry. "Sam, don't go on your own."

Incredulity passed over Sam's face. "Jack, this is something that-"

"Wait, listen. Sam, you could get hurt. You shouldn't go on your own."

Dean was ready to throw Sam a smug look when Jack suddenly turned to him. "And Dean, there's no reason that we shouldn't just leave now. Like Sam said, we can form a plan in the car. It might be too late if we wait around here. And if it's a trap, then we'll be okay. I'll keep you guys safe," he promised.

Sam cleared his throat. "You're right, Jack," he said quietly.

Dean ran a hand over his face. "I swear, if we all get killed by Azazel, I'll kick both of your asses."

Jack frowned. "But… if we're dead, then how would you be able to-?"

"He's joking, Jack," Sam said quickly.

Dean dug the Impala's keys out of his pocket. "Alright, then. Who's ready for a drive to Virginia?"

* * *

Sam had assured Dean and Jack that the old man would be at the museum called Kenmore; in his vision, he'd seen the old man - whose name was Rupert - get gutted at the museum. He'd had a nametag, Sam had clarified, and he'd seen the attraction signs for the museum, which had once been a plantation.

So, by dusk, they had strategically planted themselves near Rupert, who was getting ready to close up the museum for the night.

Rupert went into a closet and took out a mop pointedly.

"Azazel's not here," Dean said in a low voice to Sam, returning from the back of the museum. "I just checked the rest of the curators. They're all clean."

Dean had checked the rest of the museum to make sure there weren't other demons while Sam kept an eye on Rupert, since he was still limping from his injured foot.

Sam looked over his shoulder at Rupert. "He'll be here," he said stubbornly. "He showed up in a tall guy's meatsuit in my vision. He's going to be bald. We can't miss him."

"We close in ten minutes," Rupert said to them, a scowl on his face.

"Perfect. Ten more minutes to look at this… dollhouse exhibit," Dean responded, fake cheerfulness plastered onto his face.

The old man gave him a dirty look and continued to mop the floor, mumbling under his breath.

"There's nothing upstairs," Jack reported, rejoining them.

They continued to stand by the dollhouses, pretending to observe them, while the man mopped closer and closer to them.

"Excuse me," Rupert said finally, and they stood aside to let him mop where they had been standing.

"Usually the floor's open when I mop. We close in three minutes," Rupert said. "It's awfully annoying to have to get people to move out of my way."

A foul look crossed Dean's face and he opened his mouth to retort to the old man but Sam stepped hard on his foot.

"Sorry, sir," he said politely. "We're dollhouse collectors and these are just so… fascinating. I mean, the architecture on the exteriors and the minute details on the dolls themselves - it's fantastic!"

Faint approval flickered across Rupert's sagged, grumpy face. "See that house on the far right? It was built in 1624," he said proudly. "And that one next to it comes from Europe. It incorporates some of the grandest Gothic architecture into its intricacies."

"That's incredible," Sam said, stooping to continue playing the part now that he was stuck with it. Dean couldn't help but smirk at his brother's façade of being interested in the dollhouses.

The door to the front opened suddenly. A warm breeze drifted in along with the tall, bald man, just like Sam had said. Dean tapped Sam's shoulder and they turned around, not hesitating one minute in taking their guns out.

"Sweet Jesus!" Rupert croaked, his eyes widening at their guns. "What're you-?"

"I was hoping you three would join," Azazel said pleasantly. The man he had hijacked had a deep, smooth voice. He was wearing a tailored outfit and looked clean - much different from the meatsuit he'd been in when they'd killed him so many years ago.

"Leave now or Jack will use his grace on you again, and this time, he won't go easy on you," Dean said, cocking his eyebrows at him.

Azazel laughed in response. "You think I'd fall for your stupid bluff? I know he's weak. I can feel him from here. And you two still don't have the Colt. Did you really think that your presence here could stop me from what I came to get?"

He snapped his fingers and Rupert choked from beside them. His shaking, arthritic fingers lifted towards his chest, but it was futile. A bloodstain creeped out from under his shirt and he shuddered, falling heavily onto the floor.

Sam felt his chest go cold. He _knew_ Jack was weak, and he knew that they wouldn't be able to kill Azazel, but somehow he'd thought that they'd save the day. Somehow, he'd thought that they'd be able to stop Azazel from killing Rupert.

He fired several shots at Azazel without thinking, ignoring the fact that the bullets wouldn't hurt him.

Azazel's head turned to him. "Sammy Winchester. Always the genius, aren't you?"

Sam's hands shook slightly as Azazel made eye contact with him. The demon's eyes glowed yellow and he averted his eyes, unable to look at him.

"You brought Jack right to me. His heart is worth five hundred hearts. A child of Lucifer! You can't get a child of chaos better than that. His heart will be the last one, the one to finish it."

"Piss off," Dean said. "He's not going anywhere with you."

Azazel ignored him. "But now it's time to bid our farewells. We've been through a lot together, Sam. You too, Dean. But you're no longer an asset to me."

Yellow-Eyes raised his hand that wasn't holding Rupert's heart, pressing his index and thumb together. Sam's eyes widened, and he fired his gun again, but it did absolutely nothing.

 _Dean was right. We shouldn't have just come here. It was a trap._

"No!" Jack yelled, and as Azazel snapped his fingers, there was a flurry of motion. Sam felt Jack diving beside him, and the museum went dark. It felt like a blanket covering him; but a stiff blanket, not a floppy, limp one.

And then the dark blanket was gone. Jack was in between Sam and Dean, his arms around them protectively.

Those were his wings that had been around them.

Sam yelled a warning as Azazel, who looked briefly surprised, lunged forward and grabbed Jack by the shoulders.

They fell backwards together, twisting in the air, and then, in the blink of an eye, they were gone.

The museum fell back into silence.

Sam could hardly breathe. The shadowing sensation of Jack's wings covering him from whatever Azazel had tried to kill him with felt like an imprint on his very soul.

"You okay, Dean?" he asked, looking at his brother.

Dean nodded. They lingered, looking at each other longer than usually. Sam was unable to speak.

"It's okay. We tried to save Rupert," Dean said flatly, reading Sam's mind. "I could've stopped you from coming here. It's not your fault."

"It is, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "I said things I shouldn't have said. That's the reason we're in this mess-"

"And I punched you. I'd say we're even." His eyes drifted guiltily to Sam's cheekbone, which was bruised. Sam felt anger flare at the apology.

"What the hell, Dean! We're not even! Jack's gone, and his heart is probably in Azazel's hand right now-"

"No, it's not," Dean said, his voice cracking with anger. "Don't say that. And were you listening to Yellow-Eyes? He said that Jack's heart would be last. We just need to find him before he opens the doors to the Empty."

"And if we don't?"

Dean turned away, and he didn't answer.

 _ **TBC**_

 **A/N** : Thanks to everyone who is showing support for this story! I like to publish the chapters (as I am doing right now) right before I leave for work, so that way when I check my phone when I get off, there are all sorts of notifications because of the reviews, favorites, and follows :) it really makes my night better, having all of the support to look forward to!

Also, today was my last day of my sophomore year of high school! Yay! Now that I'm on summer vacation, I'll have plenty more time to write!

I'd also like to note that the mythology of the children of chaos is completely made up. So if any of you are researching it to see what kind of mythology it is, well, it's just something that came into my mind as I was writing. 


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:** I had trouble with this chapter; it didn't want to be written. Finally, it came to me as I was lying in bed, and this was the result. It's a bit improvised but hopefully entertaining all the same, sorry it took me so long to update!

" _It's okay. We tried to save Rupert," Dean said flatly, reading Sam's mind. "I could've stopped you from coming here. It's not your fault."_

" _It is, Dean," Sam said, shaking his head. "I said things I shouldn't have said. That's the reason we're in this mess-"_

" _And I punched you. I'd say we're even." His eyes drifted guiltily to Sam's cheekbone, which was bruised. Sam felt anger flare at the apology._

" _What the hell, Dean! We're not even! Jack's gone, and his heart is probably in Azazel's hand right now-"_

" _No, it's not," Dean said, his voice cracking with anger. "Don't say that. And were you listening to Yellow-Eyes? He said that Jack's heart would be last. We just need to find him before he opens the doors to the Empty."_

" _And if we don't?"_

 _Dean turned away, and he didn't answer._

* * *

Sam hated the feeling of staying up all night.

Dean would probably argue that Sam _enjoyed_ it, because he did it so frequently, researching until sunrise. That was true, Sam had pulled many all-nighters in his lifetime. But he still hated it all the same.

At the moment, sleeping wasn't an option. They didn't know when or where Azazel would be casting the spell; if he did, then the Empty would be opened up and all of the demons and angels they'd ever killed would be free to roam Earth.

They also needed to find Jack. Jack had saved Sam and Dean at the museum, and now he was gone.

Dean had also brought up the question of why Azazel hadn't tried to take their hearts. After all, he'd pointed out, they themselves didn't have a very clean ancestry.

After the museum disaster, they'd found an obscure motel in Virginia to camp out at. Both brothers had spent the entire night online, digging through every article on the Internet they could find to get some sort of clue as to where the spell would be and where Jack might have been taken.

Even Dean didn't stop researching.

Guilt pounded through Sam's veins; he remembered clearly what he'd told Dean the day before. He'd told him that it would be his fault if Rupert died.

And now Rupert was dead. But it hadn't been Dean's fault, it hadn't been any of their faults, Sam reminded himself, rubbing his eyes to refocus on the screen.

It was difficult. The words were blurring together and the white of the screen felt like a laser blasting through his retinas. Every time he rubbed his eyes, or shut them for a few moments, it was harder to keep them open.

His shoulder felt like it was on fire. It was stinging with protest at having been wrenched around at the museum. Dean had restitched some of it, but it still wasn't very comfortable.

On the bright side, he hadn't had any more visions.

Dean was clicking the end of a pen; on, off, on, off, on, off.

The sound was almost mesmerizing.

"Dude," Sam said, his voice cracking from disuse the entire night. "Do you mind?"

"It's keeping me awake."

"It's making me want to sleep."

Dean frowned. "A clicking pen is annoying. How the hell does it make you want to sleep?"

"I dunno, it's like white noise," Sam said, irritated. "Can we just finish this? Have you found anything?"

"Yeah. I did, actually," Dean said.

"What? What'd you find?"  
"A whole lot of squat."

Sam sighed at Dean's disappointing answer. "The local library opens in four hours. We should get some sleep before going there."

"You can. I'm staying up," Dean said, switching his gaze back to the screen.

Sam raised his eyebrows. "Really? You're going to keep researching?"

"Jack's out there. I'm going to keep searching until I find him or I drop." He looked up at Sam. "You should take a few. I won't judge."

"No," Sam said, running his hands over his face. "I'll help."

"Yeah, but you're getting over multiple injuries. And your whole psychic thing is going on. You should get some rest," Dean said, looking at him critically.

Sam snorted. "I'm not going to sleep while you research."

Dean shrugged, still watching him closely. "Whatever."

They kept at it. The sun rose and the motel room steadily grew brighter until the sky was a robin egg blue without a cloud in sight. The room became muggier as it became late morning; the air conditioner was broken and the window was jammed.

* * *

Sam rose from his chair, checking his watch. "I'm heading to the library," he said. "It should be open now. And it's too damn stuffy in here to keep researching online." He was getting antsy despite having felt drowsy earlier; for too long they had been coming up with nothing.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean said, standing up violently.

"What?" Sam said, startled.

"We've found nothing, Sam! Nothing! Jack's gone, and if Azazel gets the doors to The Empty open…" he trailed off, running a hand down his face.

"We'd be screwed," Sam admitted. "The number of both demons and angels that would be out to kill us because we killed them…" He too trailed off.

"Well, let's go to the library," Dean said stonily. "Maybe, they'll just happen to have a book explaining what to do when a resurrected demon tries to open the gates to a world of nothingness." He took an angry swig of beer, setting the bottle back on the table too hard. It sloshed out and onto the floor.

The sloshing sound suddenly turned into a different kind of sound; one that was more viscous. The scenery changed, the motel room changing to the cramped interior of a home.

 _A large window showed that it was nighttime. Rain was pounding on the sidewalk outside of the house. There was a beautiful view; the ocean was a mere thirty feet away, and there was a picturesque walkway next to it. There was a street sign next to the house, which was sitting on the corner. The letters were difficult to see through the limited visibility of the pouring rain._

 _The sound of people in the house was masked by the pounding rhythm of rain. They were in the corner, dimly illuminated by a few candles that were lit._

 _Jack was strapped down to a table. His hair was damp with sweat. There was dried blood on his forehead, but he seemed perfectly aware of every movement of his captor._

 _Azazel was moving steadily around the room. He had painted a sigil on the wooden door that led to another part of the house with blood. It was intricate and foreign; in addition, hanging on the door were bits of flesh and hair._

 _The foul scent of corpses wafted through the air. There was a sack sitting on the floor near Jack, and sticky stains were splattered all over the bag. It looked limp and lumpy._

 _The demon finished tinkering with the sigil and picked up the sack, dumping it unceremoniously onto the floor in front of the door. He struck a match and lit the heart on top; instead of the fire flickering out upon meeting the damp surface of the heart, it lit like it was made of gasoline._

 _Jack was watching Azazel warily, his eyes quickly following every step the demon made. His eyes were murderous, but weak; there was nothing he could do against Yellow-Eyes._

 _Smoke rose up from the pile of hearts and soaked into the door, which turned blacker than night._

 _Azazel turned to face Jack and he didn't waste time in plunging the knife into the nephilim's chest, carving and hacking through Jack's screams and carelessly pulling his heart out. He tossed it at the door, which glowed bright red as the heart hit it with a sickening, slopping sound._

 _Jack's screams ceased as the house began to shake and Azazel laughed with satisfaction, reaching forward to open up the door._

"Sam!"

Sam couldn't move; the scent of the burning hearts and the echoes of Azazel's laughs and Jack's screams were ringing in his ears.

Cold water splashed onto his face and he choked, flying upright. Dean's hand was on his shoulder, his eyes slanted with concern.

"Dude, snap out of it!" Dean said forcefully, gripping his shoulder even tighter, and Sam took a deep breath. He realized he was shaking, and immediately steeled himself, pulling himself away from Dean.

"Charleston," he said in between breaths. "I saw a street sign for the East Battery. It's where Jack's been taken, it's where Azazel is going to open a door to The Empty."

"Why Charleston?"

"I don't know, I just saw that they were there! It was the part we stayed in when Dad took down that ghost of the lawyer when I was twelve-"

"How much time do we have?"

"I don't know, there wasn't a clock or anything - but," Sam said, reaching for his laptop, "It was raining hard in my vision."

"So let's check the weather for Charleston," Dean said, comprehension on his face.

Sam did a quick search for the forecast for Charleston.

"There," he said triumphantly. "Tomorrow night, a bit after dusk, it's supposed to start raining."

"Alright," Dean said. "I'll pack the car." He picked up his gun and twirled it in his fingers. "We've got a demon to gank."

* * *

Dean maneuvered the Impala onto the highway with expertise, the wheel sliding smoothly under his hands. The speakers were rumbling with the rhythm of Free Bird. He rolled down the windows so that the balmy Virginia air whipped through the car; Sam's hair was a whirlwind in the heavy wind of air.

Speaking of Sam - his brother's entire disposition looked tense. Dean didn't blame him; the visions didn't look very comfortable. Sam had barely spoken the entire ride, instead focusing on keeping ice on his ankle, which had swollen since he'd twisted it in the kitchen in Montour Falls. A plum and olive colored bruise decorated the side of his face, courtesy of Dean's angry punch, and once again guilt flared through him.

They arrived at Charleston later that day, when the city was beginning to light up with nightlife. Dean checked them into their motel, which was pricier than usual because Sam wanted to be in town and close to where Azazel would be.

"Well, we've got twenty-four hours to kill," Dean said, throwing his bag down onto the bed closest to the door. "How about we hit up a bar? When was the last time you hooked up with a chick, anyway?"

"No. Not tonight, Dean," was Sam's stoic response as he flopped onto the bed and immediately took out his laptop.

"Alright, Grumpy," Dean said, slinging his flannel off so that he was clad in a tee; it was stuffy and warm in Charleston. "You can be a stick in the mud. I'll go have fun."

"Sorry if I'm a _stick in the mud_ ," Sam said, his voice angrier than Dean expected. "We have bigger problems at hand!"

"Yeah, in case you forgot, sublimation is kind of my thing, dude," Dean said lightly, in no mood to appease Sam's sulky attitude. Albeit, Sam was right, but he still didn't feel like brooding in the motel room over things that they couldn't control at the moment. "You should try it. It might wipe that frown off of your face."

Dean knew that he was instigating Sam, but he didn't care; they'd been cooped up together for the past few weeks without very many breaks.

"Want to know why I'm frowning?" Sam said, his voice low. "Because Jack's gone. And the demon that killed Mom and Jess is back, and is plotting to end the world - _again_. Not to mention my damn ankle, bruise, head, and stitches are all killing me, so pardon me if I don't want to go to a bar and throw lame pickup lines at girls!"

"Calm down, princess," Dean said, keeping his voice light. He sensed that if he retaliated again, they'd be in a full argument.

"Besides," Sam said, ignoring Dean but calming all the same, "We need to plan how we're going to kill Azazel."

"We'll just have to exorcise him. We don't have anything to kill him with."

"Except Jack," said Sam, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. "Jack's a nephilim. He helped to kill Dagon, remember?"

"Through Cas," Dean said, though a small feeling of hope rose in him. "We could call Cas-"

"Cas is in heaven right now," Sam reminded him. "We only have twenty-four hours. Besides, I think Jack could kill a Prince of Hell on his own now. I mean, he's much stronger than when he wasn't even born yet, right?"

Dean's heart suddenly sunk. "But Jack's weak right now. He used all of his mojo fighting Azazel the other day. There's no way that he could just take him out now."

"In my vision he wasn't able to fight back," Sam acknowledged. "But what if we charged him up?"

Dean understood immediately. "What, like let him touch one of our souls and then wipe out Azazel with a twitch of his finger?"

"Exactly."

"Cas said it's like handling a nuclear weapon and that you could explode really easily. Jack's never touched a soul before," Dean said, considering his brother's imploring expression. "Well, we've got nothing to lose, right?"

* * *

After sleeping for a solid five hours to compensate for their previous all nighter, they got up early to prepare for Sam's vision to unfold. They scouted out where Jack and Azazel would be, and Sam was unsurprised to find that the house was empty; there were no candles, no hearts, and definitely no Jack.

"Here's what we're gonna do," Dean said over their lunch as they ate across the street. Clouds were beginning to drift in for what would become rain that night, and Sam kept anxiously checking his watch, afraid that they would somehow miss Azazel's appearance.

"I'll let Jack touch my soul, but there's no way that's going to happen with Azazel there. You should improvise some crap about how Azazel ruined your life or whatever to distract him."

Sam frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

Dean took a massive bite of his burger and swallowed it so quickly that Sam was surprised he didn't choke. "I mean, get all emotional. 'Because of you, my brother and I had to face Lucifer!' or 'I still miss Jess everyday!'. Something along those lines."

"I still do miss her every day," Sam said quietly. Dean's words hadn't been intended to bring up old feelings of grief but it struck him like a spear nonetheless.

"Obviously, those things are true," Dean said quickly, backpedaling, "but if you can use them to our advantage that'd be great. Just so I have enough time to tell Jack what to do and get him charged up."

"What if it doesn't work? What's Plan B?" Sam mused, taking a bite of his sandwich.

"Plan B is that we cut Jack free and run with our tails behind our legs," Dean said bluntly. "If we don't die first."

Nighttime seemed to come quickly, what with both of their tense anticipation for the night. They had camped out on the beach across the street from the dark house, waiting for the sign of light from the candles that Azazel would be lighting. Dean had meticulously cleaned all of their weapons, whether out of belief that it would help or simply compulsiveness Sam wasn't sure. As for himself he had spent the remaining hours researching for anything that would help them at all, even trying to call Cas again, but the angel didn't answer.

"Sam, look," Dean said suddenly. A faint, warm glow was flickering in the window of the house. "That's our cue." He tossed Sam a gun. "That's loaded with devil's trap bullets. It won't do much against him, but it should slow him down."

Sam nodded his thanks and cocked it, following his brother towards the house and Azazel.

 _ **TBC**_

 **A/N:** Apologies for the short chapter. I was going to include more, but I have to leave for work and I couldn't let this sit another day. I also reread this and realized how it was way too quick paced, but I really needed to get things moving, so I'm very sorry if this wasn't as enjoyable to read!

Thanks for reading! I am so grateful for everyone who is favoriting, following, and reviewing - it's so inspiring for me! Hopefully the next chapter will be out by Tuesday, and if not then, then definitely by Thursday. Thanks!


	5. Chapter 5

" _Sam, look," Dean said suddenly. A faint, warm glow was flickering in the window of the house. "That's our cue." He tossed Sam a gun. "That's loaded with devil's trap bullets. It won't do much against him, but it should slow him down."_

 _Sam nodded his thanks and cocked it, following his brother towards the house and Azazel._

The door to the old Charleston home creaked open before Sam's hand even reached the doorknob. He and Dean were immediately exposed in the streetlight as the door swung open with the invisible force.

"Come in," Azazel said conversationally. "I appreciate your welcoming gift." He pointed at the ceiling, where there was a broken devil's trap that Sam and Dean had made while scouting the place out.

Sam swung his eyes to the corner where Jack had been in his vision; sure enough, the nephilim was tied down to the chair. He was weak, his brow bloody and his cheekbone bruised.

"Go," Jack croaked, but with a quick flick of Azazel's fingers his mouth snapped shut.

"You came to watch?" Azazel asked, lighting the few candles that weren't already lit. "I'm blushing. I don't usually have an audience."

Sam stood next to Dean, their shoulders brushing. He could feel his brother's tense body, ready to spring into action at any second. "How many?" Sam asked. "How many people?"

"How many people did I kill?" Azazel asked, looking towards the damp sack of hearts. "Hm. I lost count somewhere around a hundred. But with Jack's, it'll be enough to open a door to the Empty. Don't you worry, Sam, it's too late to do anything about it."

Sam felt Dean's shoulder touch against his own ever so slightly, but it was enough to tell him that his brother was cuing him to begin.

"You ignorant prick. Don't you care? Each of these people had a life," Sam said, taking a step closer to Azazel. "A family. Friends. Ambitions. Memories. You stole all of that… just to bring back hundreds more demon and angel dicks like yourself?"

"I must admit I'm not looking forward to the resurrection of all those angels," Azazel acknowledged. "Who knows? Maybe I'll become a hunter. Hunting angels sounds like a fun pastime." He leered at Sam, who was inching closer to Jack.

"They'll smite you," Sam said flatly. "You'll be a pile of demon ash on the ground the moment they're sprung from the Empty."

"I'm clever, Sam. They underestimate me."

"But we don't," Sam said in a low voice, pointing his thumb roughly at his chest. "Whether it's Dean, Jack, Cas, or me… I promise you that you will be nothing more than dust when we're through with you," Sam said, his voice shaking slightly. "It's all because of you. Every single piece of crap that's ever happened to us. It all started with _you_."

"Cut the monologuing, Sam, and stop trying to get closer to Jack," Azazel said, shaking his head at him. "I would've thought you'd be stealthier than that. Any low level demon could-"

"We are stealthy, you bastard," Dean growled from behind him, thrusting the demon knife into Azazel's heart.

Azazel howled and Dean sprung forward to go to Jack, but Sam pushed him back.

"Keep Azazel back!" he ordered.

Dean's eyes flashed. "No way. Jack's not touching your soul-"

"He's not touching yours either. Go!" Sam had had no intentions of letting Dean be the hero straight from the start, and he pushed his gun into his brother's hand. "Keep shooting him with the devil's trap bullets!"

Azazel had fallen to his knees. His skin flickered several times, before he reached for the hilt of the knife to pull it out, panting.

"Jack," Sam said, his voice hushed. He began to hack at Jack's bindings as he spoke. "I need you to touch my soul."

"Touch your soul?" Jack was looking at Sam like he'd gone insane. "Sam, I can't do that. I don't know _how_ to do that."

"You're going to have to. Cas has done it before, and he said it's like handling a nuclear weapon," Sam warned. "It'll give you enough power to kill Azazel."

"I don't know if I can kill him," Jack whispered.

"You killed Dagon when you weren't even born yet," Sam assured him. "Dagon was his sister. If you can kill her, you can kill him."

Jack's eyes widened more. "But that was when I was channeling it through an angel - even if I had the energy, I don't know if I'd be able to use it-"

"You've got to try, Jack. Reach into my chest and touch it," Sam directed.

Behind them, Dean was tackling Azazel to the floor and firing bullets into his temples. There was a yell and they both tumbled backwards into the wall, the demon knife scattering across the floor.  
"Now, Jack!" Sam urged, and closing his eyes, Jack reached towards Sam.

* * *

Dean twisted instinctually at the sound of Sam's pained yell. Too late he realized this was a mistake as Azazel got his hand free and pushed outwards towards him. Dean found himself flying through the air and hitting the opposite wall heavily.

Dazed, he got up and staggered forward. The knife was on the ground a few feet away. Azazel was digging into his own skin, pulling out one of the bullets and dropping it onto the floor with a slight clink.

The entire room was bathed in light that was being emitted from Sam's chest. Jack's faced was strained and sweating, and Sam had collapsed downward, no longer yelling but tears streaming out of the corners of his eyes. Jack was leaning almost entirely into Sam with the effort.

"Careful, Jack!" Dean bellowed, torn between fear for Jack exploding his brother and anger at Sam for taking what was the more dangerous role in their plan.

Jack didn't answer. He was ashen, drained, trembling. Sam had all but fallen face first onto the floor and Jack was struggling to keep his hand inside of Sam's chest.

Dean grappled for the knife and dove at Azazel. They became a whirlwind of limbs, biting and kicking, as Dean slashed at the demon. The tip of the blade connected with flesh and he tore downward, feeling the satisfactory rip of tendons.

"Take - this - you bastard," Dean gritted out as he pulled his gun out. He shoved it against the demon's face and fired. Blood splattered all over him, and Azazel's eyes angrily turned to him.

"You're only a thorn in my side. Nothing more," Azazel said, and poised his fingers, preparing to snap them for some sort of death that Dean didn't doubt would be gruesome and painful.

"Dean!" Jack yelled from the corner. He had removed his hand from Sam's chest and the sound caught Azazel's attention. The demon started to stand but was limited by the devil's trap bullet; angrily, he began to tear into his own flesh again to remove the bullet. Dean wielded the demon knife, preparing to thrust it into the demon's chest again, but Azazel pushed outward with what looked like more effort than before. The knife flew from Dean's hand and out of the window. Shards of glass scattered across the floor and the warm breeze drifted into the room along with the splatter of fat droplets of rain.

"Dean, I can't do it!" Jack said, his face bright red and dotted with perspiration. "It's too much!"

Sam was unconscious on the ground, his hair limp around his head like a halo. Blood was pouring from his lip where he had bitten himself while Jack was touching his soul. Dean was tempted to go to his brother's side but instead opted to go for the door to retrieve the knife; their last weapon.

He yanked open the door and quickly found the blade sitting on the sidewalk in the rain. Dean bent and grabbed it, charging back inside to decapitate Yellow-Eyes if he could - when there was a flash of blinding light. He stopped in his tracks, entranced by what he saw.

Jack was still ashen, but he was crouched next to Sam, his eyes unseeing.

Sam's eyes were glowing golden and he had sat upright. Dean was instantly reminded of when Gadreel had possessed Sam; it was the same stiff posture that hinted of vast quantities of grace beneath the surface. His lip, which had been bleeding heavily, had healed suddenly, the skin mending itself before Dean's eyes so that only dried blood remained on his face.

Jack had his hand pressed tightly against Sam's shoulder despite his vacant expression. There was a yellow glow leading from Jack's wrist and through his hand, into Sam's shoulder.

It was exactly the same as when the unborn Jack had sent his power through Cas.

Azazel saw Sam and his mouth parted slightly with surprise. He lunged for the bag of hearts and dumped them at the door desperately. His hand went for his side, wrenching out a copper colored scythe and raising it in defense.

"This is for Mom. And Jess, and Dad, and everyone else that's suffered because of you," Sam said. His voice was oddly echoing as though he was standing in a cavern. "You son of a bitch." He lifted his hand and a surge of hot, shining energy flowed towards the demon.

"No!" Azazel's hand fumbled at the wet hearts by the door as though they could save him. "You're _my_ child, you can't do this! I made your fate since you were six months old - no! You can't do this!"

Sam didn't move from his position, only pumping more energy at the demon. Azazel caught on fire, and he screamed as flames licked his skin.

Dean could only watch with awe as the demon fell to the ground, smoking and burning before their eyes before disintegrating to the floor.

Jack released his grip on Sam and the golden energy was cut off abruptly, leaving only the drizzly, humid air in the house. Sam fell backwards, his eyes rolling upwards, as Jack gasped with breath.

Dean bent by his brother's side, and before he could reach for his brother's pulse, Sam had flown upright again.

"Dean!" he said immediately, gripping his brother. "Is he… is he gone?"

Dean took a quick look at the ash sitting on the floor. "He's gone, Sammy. You did good."

Jack stirred. "Sam? Dean, is Sam okay?"

"He's good. What the hell happened?"

Jack stood up, his legs shaking slightly. He was still alarmingly pale and Dean helped him get fully upright. "I touched Sam's soul. It was…" He shook his head and stopped. "Nevermind."

Sam looked at Jack curiously but Jack continued. "I couldn't use that much energy. It would've been too much. I think that I would've caused an explosion. So I channeled it through Sam, to make the current slightly weaker."

"So now you've just got a ton of juice floating around in you?" Dean said warily, thinking of Cas with the energy of Purgatory's souls.

"Well, I don't think there is any juice in me," Jack said, confused. "But the energy I got from touching Sam's soul… most of it was used on Azazel. The rest has helped me to regain my strength." He reached out and touched Dean, and Dean felt his bruises and cuts magically heal.

Sam stood up cautiously. "My ankle healed," he said with wonder.

"There was so much power, Sam. It almost burned through your skin," Jack said. "I had to restrain much of it, but that was all you that killed Azazel."

Sam was still looking at the ash. "He's dead."  
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Dead as a doornail."

Sam gripped his head tightly suddenly before looking up with a strained expression.

"I'm fine. Jack's grace can't heal headaches caused by visions, I guess," Sam said wanly.  
"They're gone now," Dean promised. "Azazel's dead. For good, I hope."

Sam's face was unreadable. "Can you take us back to Montour Falls, Jack? The hospital there?"

* * *

It took some time to find Ella. She was with her aunt and mostly unresponsive to anyone, even her aunt. They managed to persuade her aunt to bring them to the father's hospital room, claiming to be top scientists from an institution in New York.

"Ella?" Sam said, bending by her. "We're here to help your dad wake up."

At this, Ella's eyes shifted to Sam's. "My daddy never wakes up." Ella said. Her voice wasn't melancholic, it was hard and defeated. "My mommy said he might one day. But now Mom's dead. Her funeral was yesterday."

Jack took Ella's hand. "Come over here," he said. Ella went with him, her expression drawn. Jack put Ella's hand in her father's.

"Grip his hand really tightly," Jack coached. "Squeeze it. He's ready to wake up."

Ella looked unconvinced but she took her father's limp hand and squeezed it. Jack quietly reached over and gently touched the shoulder of the father at the same time. His eyes flared golden for the briefest of moments.

Dean moved from his spot in the corner to Jack. "Let's go, before people ask questions," he said quietly. Jack nodded and they smiled politely to the aunt before moving out into the hall.

The last thing Dean heard before Jack touched his shoulder to bring them back to the bunker was Ella's cry of happiness and the aunt's scream of shock as the father suddenly sat up, healthier than he'd been in a long time. And then the hospital was gone as Jack made contact with Dean's shoulder, and they were flown into darkness.

They landed in the bunker swiftly. Everything was in place from when they'd left it on the frantic notion that something was going down in Montour Falls, New York, right after Sam had had the first vision he'd had in years.

"Home sweet home," Dean said, throwing his duffel down. "Man, I never realized how good life is with Yellow-Eyes dead."

"This was all my fault," Jack said suddenly, looking at the floor. "I'm so sorry. If I hadn't woken up that _thing_ , none of this would've happened."

Dean snorted. "You think that's the first training session that's gone wrong?" he asked. "You should've seen this one time when we were kids. I was seventeen, and Sammy was thirteen."

"Dean, you've told this a million times-" Sam interjected, but Dean ignored him.

"Dad was making us do hand on hand combat. Kind of like what we were doing earlier," Dean said, and he launched into a detailed description of how Sam had ended up mortifying himself by somehow knocking himself out.

"Dad was pissed," Dean remembered fondly as he finished. "He thought you'd end up being some sort of dorky hunter who would trip over his own feet and get himself killed."

"Dean, we've both been killed multiple times," Sam pointed out, smiling. He stood up. "Want me to order a pizza?"

"Pepperoni," Dean said automatically. Sam looked at him as though to say, _Duh, since when have you wanted anything else?_ He left to go order the pizza.

"What did you mean?" Dean asked quietly as soon as Sam was out of earshot. "You said you touched his soul and…?"  
Jack looked uncomfortable. "It was nothing."

"Jack, I need to know," Dean persuaded. "I'm his brother."

"Well… it felt broken. Patched up. Like it had been through a cheese grater and then taped back together," Jack said, averting his eyes.

Dean said nothing in return, feeling his pulse quicken. Sam's soul felt patched together with tape. Sometimes he liked to forget how many years Sam had spent in Hell with Lucifer, but Jack's words brought back the reality of it.

"Hey," Sam said suddenly, poking his head in. "What do you guys want for drinks?"

Dean shook himself out of his stupor. "I'm all set with this beer," he said, forcing a smile for his brother.

Damnit, after everything Sam had been through and done for others, he deserved to have his soul be whole and healed. He shook off the feelings and gave Jack a smile.

"Let's go pop in a movie," he told Sam and Jack, standing up.

After all, moments with family could always make him feel better, even in the crappiest of times.

 **The End.**

 **A/N:** This entire plot was so much more complex than I originally intended. This is definitely the most plot-heavy thing I've ever written, so I apologize for any errors or loose ends.

Thanks so much to everyone who has made it this far! As always, I'm very appreciative of any reviews/favorites/follows :) now back to my other prompts for The Chronicles of Winchester HC! Also, the original prompt is below. I kind of strayed from it a bit… but it's all credit to AllShallFade777 who came up with the idea!

Take the parallel that the show draws between Sam and Jack and the fact that they both have (had, in Sam's case) evil powers that they want to do good with, and go a step further with it. Bring back Sam's psychic powers by having Jack inadvertently and temporarily trigger them in a training session or something. Then pit them against something they can both use their powers on, or don't, and just have Sam, Dean, Jack, and (if you want) Cas deal with it, riding out the effects until they wear off. And since Sam's powers were usually accompanied by headaches and nosebleeds, that'll work for the hurt!Sam aspect. Psychic powers can be the visions, telekinesis, or demon-control, or a crazy manifestation of a bunch of stuff; whatever you like :)


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